The Tulsa Troop
by bassline overdose
Summary: What if our favorite greasers were a modern day boy band? That's right, the Tulsa Troop is the 2010 Backstreet Boys with all the girls, paparazzi, award shows, and parties packed with today's stars. Read for an unforgettable tour ride with our greasers.
1. Some Canadian Competition

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Outsiders _or any other references to pop culture used in this story. I do not own the Backstreet Boys' song Everybody (Backstreet's Back) but I do use it and say that the Tulsa Troop sings it. I seriously recommend listening to the song while Steve's watching the video on TV.

**A/N:** I make fun of a lot of things in here, like the Jonas Brothers wearing purity rings. I think that it's great that they'd so such a thing, but the way one of the gang brings it up is kind of rude. This story takes place in 2010.

**Chapter One: Some Canadian Competition**

Sodapop Curtis could not believe what he was seeing. Some cruel person had created a group on Facebook called "Join if you think Justin Bieber is soooo much better than the Tulsa Troop." "465,762 members," he said aloud to himself.

"What're you lookin' at, Soda?" Steve asked from the black leather couch. Steve was watching MTV on the forty-eight inch Plasma flat screen. The Tulsa Troop's music video for their brand new song "Everybody (Tulsa's Back)" had just started. Steve was so enticed in the ahh-mazing video, as all the girls called it on Youtube comments, that he didn't even listen as Soda started telling him about Justin Bieber, the whiny little kid who hadn't even reached puberty yet at age fifteen.

Steve watched the screen intently as Dallas Winston walked out of a building, onto the street, and began singing. "Everybody! Rock your body. Everybody! Rock your body right! Tulsa's back, all right! Hey, hey, yeah."

The rest of the Tulsa Troop appeared from behind Dallas and then Two-Bit Mathews took the screen and started singing. "Oh my God, we're back again. Brothers, sisters, everybody sing. Gonna bring the flava; show ya how. Got a question for ya, better answer now."

As Soda took the screen, Steve felt a pang of envy. Soda was one of the lead singers, along with Dallas and Two-Bit, and he was also the chick magnet of the group. They plastered his flawless face on magazines and notebooks and even cereal boxes, which Steve seriously didn't understand. Steve, Ponyboy, Johnny, and Darry were the back-up singers that often break danced on the stage, so they were all often forgotten.

Soda's pitch-perfect voice flowed out of his lips, which were secretly covered with a layer of Lancome's Natural Beauty lipstick. "Am I original? Yeah! Am I the only one? Yeah! Am I sexual? Yeah! Am I everything you need; you better rock your body now!"

Steve laughed out loud when Soda asked if he was sexual. That was one of the reasons that the group should write their own songs: to avoid embarrassing themselves.

Soda shut the television off just as the chorus began and everyone started singing.

"Hey!" Steve whined.

"Steve, did you hear a word of what I said?"

Steve shook his head, just as Two-Bit burst out of the bunk bed section and into the small "living room" of the bus. "Guys, I've got a problem," he said.

"Well, what is it, Two-Bit?" Soda questioned.

Two-Bit glanced nervously at Steve and Soda before confessing. "I think I'm googoo for GaGa!"

Steve and Soda gasped in unison. "Hey, Two-Bit, maybe she wants to take a ride on your disco stick!" Steve couldn't hold in his laughs.

"Or maybe she wants to _just dance _with him, Steve," Soda chuckled.

"Y'know what I heard about her, Two-Bit?"

Two-Bit shrugged. "No what?"

"I heard she's your biggest fan and she'll follow you until you love her!" Soda fist pounded Steve for his diss and the two best friends cracked up together, totally oblivious to Two-Bit leaving.

"Epic fail," Two-Bit muttered, "Epic fail."

**X**

The Tulsa Troop dodged all the paparazzi as they entered Applebee's. "Where are we again?" Dallas asked Darry, referring to the city. Dallas liked pretending to forget where they were on tour; he thought of it as an ego boost.

"I think Boise, Idaho."

Dallas, however, knew perfectly well that they were in Idaho. He was just waiting for the perfect time to scream, "NO! YOU DA HOE!" to Darry. The entire restaurant turned to look at the hysterical seventeen-year-old Dallas, and when they recognized him as one of the lead singers for the Tulsa Troop, they all laughed.

"H-hi! I-I'm S-Sophie! I'll be y-your waitress t-tonight! Um, j-just follow m-me, okay?" The poor little star struck Sophie led the group of seven to their booth and nervously handed them their menus with her shaking hands.

"T-thank you!" Dallas imitated the waitress. Ponyboy kicked him hard in his shin underneath the table as Sophie blushed a deep crimson color and scurried off to the women's restroom, where she'd cry.

Soda ignored the incident and sighed. "I was on Facebook today and somebody made a group called 'Join if you think Justin Bieber is sooo much better than the Tulsa Troop.' It had 465,762 members! Guys, I think we need a new approach to our fans!" he exclaimed, his voice saturated with worry.

Dallas rolled his blue eyes. "You remembered the number of people in the group? Soda, man, what do you do all day on the bus?" Although Dally had an idea. "Y'know that kid, Justine-"

"Justin," Soda automatically corrected him with his head in his hands.

Dally shot Soda a look. "Yeah, Justin, whatever. Usher's givin' him a free ride. This kid's only famous 'cause of him. That kid's from Canada, man. We're from the streets of Tulsa. All we need is a little popularity boost," Dallas assured.

"Maybe we should collaborate with a rapper!" Ponyboy suggested.

Dally glared at him. "Yeah, I was getting to that, man."

"How about Lil Wayne?" Johnny suggested. Lil Wayne was secretly his idol, next to Dallas, of course.

"Nah, Weezy's in jail, man. Texted me last week," Dally replied, checking his Blackberry. Johnny sighed in defeat.

"Maybe we could wear purity rings like the Jonas Brothers!" Soda happily suggested, his disappointed mood fading away.

Dallas snickered and then laughed out loud. "Man, you guys can, but uh, that boat has already sailed for me, if you know what I'm sayin'!" Soda sighed while the rest of the guys cracked up. His band was losing popularity to some Canadian teenager.

**X**

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	2. Guyliner and Lattes

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _The Outsiders._

**Chapter Two: Guyliner and Lattes**

Johnny was so tempted. He knew he shouldn't; what would the band think of him?

But it was so... appealing.

Only girls liked it though!

Finally, Johnny surrendered. He decided to follow his heart. Johnny slowly picked up the MAC eyeliner pencil that rested on the vanity and traced it lightly on the water line beneath his eyeball. The result was shocking: Johnny looked like Pete Wentz! The boy gasped of glee, but before he could even think about his gorgeousness, Darry opened the door to the microscopic bathroom.

"Johnny! What the hell are you doing?" Darry screamed.

Soda and Two-Bit curiously wandered over to see what all the hubba-bub was about and stared at Johnny over Darry's broad shoulder. Two-Bit couldn't stop giggling. "Maybe he was born with it!" he exclaimed.

"Maybe it's Maybelline!" Soda sang and the two buddies fist pumped each other.

Darry shook his head in disappointment. "I thought we taught you better than this Johnny."

Johnny's dark, frightened eyes filled with tears. "I'm- I'm sorry, Darry-," he began, but the older boy interrupted his apology.

"Johnny, don't you know that you're supposed to put it on your eyelid, too?"

Johnny was extremely surprised. Had Darrel Curtis, the twenty-year-old caretaker of Sodapop and Ponyboy, actually just advised him on how to apply eyeliner?

"C'mon, Johnny. You know that every little boy experiments with his mother's makeup," Darry announced as if that were actually true.

Johnny chuckled and followed Darry's order by drawing a thin line with the coal eye pencil above his luscious, black eyelashes, courtesy of Clinique mascara.

**X**

"Can I have a grande peppermint mocha latte with whipped? Name's Ponyboy." The youngest Tulsa "Trooper" tucked a piece of loose brown hair behind his ear and after ordering such a complex coffee, sent off a very feminine message to Dallas.

Dally snickered next to the fourteen-year-old Ponyboy. "What're you gonna do next, kid? Ask 'em if your shirt makes ya look fat?"

Ponyboy turned to look at Dallas, the experienced, oh wise Dallas. He was the Yoda of bad boys. "What?" Pony's voice cracked as he spoke. Puberty was taking its toll on the poor teenage boy.

Dally snorted and turned to Sodapop, who was in the process of ordering a hot chocolate. "Hey Soda, you need to teach your kid brother over here to man up."

Soda shot Dally a side glare and continued to flirt with the attractive barista. "So, what're you doing tonight?" Soda cocked his left eyebrow, a move that made all the girls swoon over him.

Steve sighed loudly at Soda's ability to flirt so well.

"Oh, I'm going to see a Justin Bieber concert tonight with my girlies," the girl, whose name tag read "Hello! I'm Ally," replied. It didn't even phase the ditzy teenager that one of America's biggest heartthrobs was planning on asking her out.

Sodapop balled his fists up and felt his face turn bright red with fury. "Goddamn you, Justin Bieber!" he screamed while pounding the granite counter top with his fists.

Dallas ignored Soda's outburst, which earned several raised eyebrows and one "What the hell is wrong with that kid?" "You like Justin Bieber?" Dallas asked.

Ally nodded vigorously. "He's gorgeous," she gushed. She pulled a photo of Justin Bieber out of her pocket. "See?"

Dallas rolled his eyes just as his Blackberry Tour vibrated in his pocket. He flipped it out and took the call. "Dallas Winston, speaking?" he answered.

Sodapop rolled his eyes. Dally really thought he was hot shit.

_"Yo, Dal. It's ya boy Jay, Jay-Z."_

"Oh, hey, Jay. What's up, man?" Dallas tried to play it cool, but truth be told, Jay-Z scared the living shit out of him. It was funny considering Lil Wayne was one of his best buddies.

_"You BBMed me last night. Told me you wanted to do a little collaboration. I'm in, man, I'm in."_

Dally smirked. He had Jay wrapped around his finger. It was time for some payback. Justine Bieber was in for a rude awakening.

**X**

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	3. Messin' With Justin

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Outsiders _or the song "Telephone" by Lady GaGa and Beyonce.

**A/N: **I mention the word bitty in this chapter. In case you guys don't know what a bitty is, it's slang for a hot girl or it's a shortened form of bitch. It's kind of an inside joke between me and my best friends. We all call each other bitty and everyone kinda just gives us weird looks because they have no idea what it means.

**Chapter Three: Messin' With Justin**

Sitting at a table by the window in Starbucks was the Tulsa Troop, suffering in the success of Justin Bieber.

"Hey guys, I've been thinking," Sodapop started.

"Did it hurt?" Two-Bit cracked, elbowing Johnny in the shoulder.

Pony couldn't resist. He had to. "THAT'S WHAT HE SAID!" Pony screamed.

Every breathing being in Starbucks turned to look at Ponyboy.

"Pony, watch it!" Darry yelled but in a whisper tone. He didn't want to attract anymore attention.

"Pony, it's supposed to be that's what she said," Dallas corrected him matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, but how would a girl hurt a guy?" Pony questioned.

"I don't know, but it was a crappy moment to do it. Try harder next time, buddy," Two-Bit replied.

"That's what she said!" Pony yelled again at Two-Bit's remark.

Soda sighed and continued what he was saying before. "Anyway, I was talking to that bitty over there, and she said she's going to a Justin Bieber concert. So, I was thinking that we could head over to his concert tonight and find out what makes this kid tick-y'know, get under his skin, and maybe we could find out why all these girls love him so much."

The band stared at Soda in awe. Sodapop, the reckless, carefree, high school drop-out Sodapop had come up with an evil genius plan.

Two-Bit was waiting for the evil laugh- the "Mwahhaha!", but before anyone even opened their mouths to comment on Soda's master plan, Two-Bit's turquoise LG Rumor 2 blared its ringtone, "Telephone" by Lady Gaga and Beyonce.

_"Stop callin', stop callin', I don't wanna think anymore! I left my head and my heart on the dance floor. Stop callin', stop callin', I don't wanna talk anymore! I left my head and my heart on the dance floor. Eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh. Stop telephonin' me! Eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh. I'm busy! Eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh. Stop telephonin' me! Eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh."_

The boys stared at Two-Bit, their jaws dropped in pure shock.

Two-Bit was so embarrassed that he didn't even take the call, which was unknowingly from Justin Bieber. "G-guys, I told you I was googoo for GaGa!" he cried, before running off to the restroom.

Dallas stared down at the wood table. "Jesus Christ!"

"Your mom is Jesus Christ," Ponyboy muttered. Pony was trying his act at modern day humor. It wasn't working for him, though, as Dallas was beyond pissed off.

"You don't want me to respond to that, kid. You really don't," Dallas snapped. He was not going to let anybody insult his bitter, old, drunk mother, even if it was the kid just trying to be funny.

After an extremely awkward moment of silence, Two-Bit returned to the table. "It was an unknown number," he whispered cautiously, as if somebody was stalking him.

"Gimme that thing," Dally demanded, holding out his hand for the cell phone.

"What are you gonna do, Dal?" Two-Bit's voice quivered with fear. He was holding his phone close to his chest, just in case Dallas grabbed it from him.

"Just give me the frickin' phone, Two-Bit."

Two-Bit surrendered and handed the phone to his buddy. Dallas started dialing numbers and put the phone on the lowest volume of speaker. The entire group zoomed their heads in to hear.

"You did do *67, right Dal?" Two-Bit whispered.

Dally nodded.

"Hello?" a childish voice answered.

"Yes, hello, this is, um, Joe's Pizza. Um, who is this speaking?" Dallas said in his thick New York accent. Johnny thought he sounded like he was in the Italian Mafia.

"Uh, Justin Bieber?" The teen sounded unsure of himself.

The group looked at each other, pure surprise painted over their faces. They had their little buddy right where they needed him.

"Oh, hey Justin. It's Dallas Winston, you know, from the Tulsa Troop."

"Oh, hi Dally! Um, what's good?" Justin's voice cracked on the "good."

Dallas snickered. This kid actually thought he was G.

"Your mom's good," Ponyboy said.

"In bed!" Two-Bit added cheerfully.

"Um… I gotta go." Justin hung up the phone immediately, while the group laughed out loud.

**X**

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	4. The Game Plan

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Outsiders _or the song "One Time" by Justin Bieber.

**A/N: **A big thanks to_ ConfuzzledAtLife_, who gave me the inspiration for this chapter.

**Chapter Four: The Game Plan**

"There's a Toys R' Us on the other side of the plaza. I've got twenty bucks in my pocket. You guys have any money?" Dallas asked the gang.

Sodapop, Johnny, and Ponyboy rummaged through the pockets on their jeans but came up empty.

"I've got ten," Two-Bit said, putting a crumpled bill in the center of the table. Steve did the same with his five, and Dallas collected the money.

"Got any money, Darry?" Dally questioned.

"I'm not wasting my money on this stupid thing," Darry replied.

"Darry, this is important, and c'mon, we're millionaires. We're supposed to donate to important causes," Dallas said.

"Dally, important causes are stuff like _charities, _not crashing some kid's concert."

"Just give me the fucking money!" Dallas persisted.

Darry sighed and handed Dally the two bucks in his pocket.

Dally glanced up at Darry, his mouth open. "You're serious?"

"Hey, you wanted the money!"

**X**

"They're five dollars each. We have thirty-seven bucks, so the extra two bucks will cover the tax," Ponyboy, the math whiz, explained. "So Darry, your money actually did count."

Each boy took one of the boxes, and they headed over to the cash registers.

"Good afternoon. Welcome to Toys R' Us! Do you have your Toys R' Us reward card?" the male cashier of twenty-three years asked Dallas.

"Yeah, man, because I come here every day," the greaser muttered sarcastically.

"Oh, I have mine!" Two-Bit exclaimed, holding his key ring out to the cashier.

The cashier scanned his reward card. "Your total comes to twenty-seven dollars and eighty-nine cents," the cashier informed Dallas.

Dally handed him the money and turned to Two-Bit.

"Wait, can we buy these, too?" Ponyboy asked the cashier, holding up a big bag of Sour Patch Kids.

"You have a fricken reward card to Toys R' Us?" Dallas asked Two-Bit, his eyebrows raised, his blue eyes dancing with laughter.

"Shut up," Two-Bit muttered.

**X**

"You boys got tickets?" asked the security guard, who looked scarily like Big Black from Rob & Big. Dally had bought the tickets on the whim at Starbucks, using Soda's laptop. They were a lot of money, but it'd be all worth it when they saw the look on Justine's face.

"What are the water guns for?" the guard questioned while searching the boys for "harmful" weapons.

"Justin's a buddy of ours and we're gonna have a huge water gun fight afterwards!" Soda cheered with fake glee.

The guard looked skeptical, but he recognized these kids as the boys from the Tulsa Troop, and he _loved _the Tulsa Troop. "I'll let you bring in the guns on one condition: you guys take a picture with me and sign it."

The gang gave him strange looks. "It's for my daughter," he lied.

"We'll take the picture if you give us seven backstage passes," Dally bargained.

"Fine," the guard snapped. He handed the kids seven passes, which were on long necklaces. Then the gang joined him for the picture and signed it.

The gang had bought seats close to the front row, using Dally's American Express, so they headed up to the front, just as Bieber took the stage.

"_Ay, ay, ay, ay, ay, ay, ay, ay! Me plus you, I'ma tell you one time. Me plus you, I'ma tell you one time. Me plus you, I'ma tell you one time. One time, one time. When I met you girl my heart went knock knock. Now them butterflies in my stomach won't stop stop. And even though it's a struggle love is all we got. And we gon' keep keep climbing to the mountain top."_

**X**

"Man, that shit was horrible," Dally mumbled. Steve thought it was pretty bad, too, but he couldn't help but think that Justin's music sounded a lot like the Tulsa Troop's.

"You guys got your guns ready?" Dallas asked the group. They all nodded. "Alright, let's split into the groups. Steve, Soda, and Johnny; you're with me. Darry, Pony, and Two-Bit; you guys go from the other side of the stage, and we'll go in this entrance," Dally explained, nodding towards the right side of the stage. Everyone nodded once again. "Okay, Tulsa Troop on three!"

Each boy put in a hand, while they counted. "One, two, three, TULSA TROOP!" they screamed, before splitting up and storming backstage.

Dallas and Darry led their groups with confidence. They swaggered backstage, holding their water guns underneath their jackets. When the little blondie was in sight, they whipped their guns out, pulling the plastic triggers, and sprayed Justin.

The rest all happened fast: the kid screamed for them to stop, several people ran away in fear of getting wet, and the group took Justin hostage in his dressing room.

"What the heck is going on?" Justin questioned. He was shaking because he was so cold, being soaking wet and all.

"You'll tell us what we want to know, otherwise we'll spray you with what's left in our guns."

**X**

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	5. The Interrogation, Tulsa Style

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _The Outsiders._

**Chapter Five: The Interrogation, Tulsa Style**

"What type of cologne do you wear?" Dallas questioned, randomly pulling out a notepad and a pen from the pocket on his leather jacket. Cologne was a secret weapon to get women, and so far, Dally's Drakaar Noir was not giving him much luck with the ladies.

"Um, that Axe stuff," Justin muttered nervously. The poor boy was sitting on a folding chair, soaking wet, being interrogated by seven intimidating guys. He did _not _sign up for this.

"Nah, man, I've tried that stuff. It doesn't make you get attacked by gorgeous women," Two-Bit sadly admitted. Dallas wrote Axe down on his list anyway. Anything to bring Justine Bieber down.

"Where do you shop for clothes?" Sodapop asked. He really liked Justin's scarves; they were so fashionable. He especially liked the checkered ones.

"Uh, usually PacSun? But I like designer stuff too. This belt is Gucci."

"OMG, I have Gucci sunglasses!" Johnny exclaimed.

Dallas scribbled down PacSun and Gucci. "Who writes your songs?"

"Uh, I do! But Usher helps me out sometimes."

"LIAR!" Ponyboy screamed, as if suddenly gaining his voice.

Justin shrank back in fear. "I'm not lying!"

Dallas wrote this down too. _Maybe we should write our own songs sometime,_ he thought.

"Guys, can we leave now? I have to harvest my strawberries on Farmville!" Darry complained. Darry was obsessed with Farmville. It was his guilty pleasure, next to Jersey Shore on MTV, of course.

"Whatever. We got all we needed from this little freak," Dally mumbled. They all headed out, dodging glances from curious paparazzi and pissed off security guards.

**X**

"I am kicking your ass!" Soda screamed. He and Steve were both on guitar, while Two-Bit took on the drums and Dallas sang. The song was Livin' On A Prayer by Bon Jovi, and the music would have been much better if Two-Bit knew how to play Rock Band.

Darry was back playing Farmville on the laptop in his bunk. He had finally harvested his strawberries and quickly thanked God for not letting them shrivel up and die.

Ponyboy and Johnny sat on the couch, reading Breaking Dawn. They were both huge Twilight fans, although Pony was Team Jacob and Johnny was Team Edward. They often bickered about who Bella should be with.

"OMG, BELLA'S PREGNANT!" Johnny screamed.

"DUDE! I didn't get up to that part yet!" Pony yelled back.

Boys will be boys.

**X**

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	6. New Song, New Troop

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Outsiders_ or the song "Darlin'" by the Backstreet Boys.

**A/N: **I'm not sure how the whole recording process works. I know they don't sing the song straight through in real life, but that's what I did in this chapter, just because I didn't want to make you guys sit through a completely boring rehearsal.

Here's the key for the lyrics:

**Bold= Two-Bit **

_Italics= Sodapop _

Underlined= Everyone 

**Bold/Underlined= Dallas **

**Chapter Six: New Song, New Troop**

Dallas strolled down the toiletries aisle, scanning the rows and rows of deodorants, shampoos, and colognes. A small black container caught his eye, and the Axe logo came into sight. Bingo. He picked up the scent, threw it into his jacket, and whistled casually while waltzing away.

Meanwhile, Soda and Two-Bit tried on the colored checkered scarves across the store. Two-Bit found a purple and black one he liked, but Sodapop was absolutely torn between the red and black and the yellow and black. He tested each, before tossing on a blue scarf.

"OMG, Soda, it matches your eyes!" Two-Bit squealed with delight, before cracking up. Soda shot the older boy a death glare before placing it in their shopping basket. They met up with Dallas, who was chatting with Johnny and Ponyboy by the sunglasses section.

"Hey Dally! Hey Ponyboy! Hey Johnny!" Two-Bit waved his hand in each of their faces. "Dal, did you get the stuff?"

"Yeah, I got it," Dallas muttered. He was secretly ashamed of copying Justin Bieber, but he really needed some help with the ladies. Rihanna had turned him down last Tuesday because she was apparently dating a baseball player after being Chris Brown-ed, and Dallas was planning on asking Megan Fox out on Saturday.

"You guys sound like you're making a drug deal," Pony mumbled while testing the women's Chanel sunglasses. Nicole Richie was a huge fan; Pony honestly thought they made her look like a bug, but he always wanted to try them on.

"Well, where is it?" Soda questioned, completely ignoring Ponyboy's remark.

Dallas looked around quick to make sure no one was looking at them and whispered, "It's in my jacket." Dally found it strange that no paparazzi seemed to be there, except for the occasional star struck photographer.

"We make millions, yet you still steal things like cologne?" Soda asked.

Dallas shrugged and ran fingers through his white blonde hair.

Soda and Two-Bit headed off to check out; Two-Bit had insisted on just stealing the stuff, but Soda insisted that they did not need to screw up their reputation.

Meanwhile, Dallas took Pony and Johnny over to the claw machines, where Darry and Steve were still attempting to pick up a crappy stuffed animal with the practically broken crane. The two had spent about fifteen dollars each trying to beat the system and get a toy, but the machine just did not want to cooperate.

"Goddammit!" Steve screamed after yet another failed attempt. He kicked the machine hard with his toes, and while cringing at the pain, a small pink stuffed bear fell out of the machine. The five boys stood there, dumbfounded, staring at the tiny toy in awe.

Darry gently picked up the bear, as if it were a newborn baby, and gaped at it in awe. "I can't believe it," he mustered.

**X**

The Tulsa Troop sat bored, cramped on a small loveseat in the recording studio. They each held a cup of coffee, occasionally sipping at the caffeinated beverage while watching their producers look over the lyrics. Sodapop had written the song, and boy, was it hard! He didn't know how Justine did it.

"Well, we like it. You guys wanna do it?"

Sodapop was almost radiating with joy, and the seven boys stood up, got in the booth, and began singing the song Darlin'.

**"Baby, can I talk to you? I know something's wrong; things just ain't the same, but deep down inside, I know you still care. So tell me what to do to get things back the way they used to be." **

_"If you were to need me, if you really cared about me, tell me why can't I find love in your heart? If you were my lover, a constant friend to me, tell me why you would turn away from my love?"_

"So Darlin', tell me what to do to make things right. Darlin', tell me what to do to make things right. Darlin', tell me what to do to make things right for love. (Tell me what to do to make things right for love)." 

"_If your words have reason, when they won't turn away from me; they're trying hard all truth, they might say. If you listen to me girl, if you know how I'm feeling inside, then maybe you wouldn't shut me out your life, baby." _

"So darlin', tell me what to do to make things right. Darlin', tell me what to do to make things right. Darlin', tell me what to do to make things right for love. (Tell me what to do to make things right for love.) For love. 

**"(Can't you see?) All I'm asking for is a chance to let me love you. (Can't you see?) Girl, you know with me is where you should be. And if by chance we should find that it can be for you and I, then girl I'll try. I'll try. Oh, baby!" **

"Darlin', tell me what to do to make things right. Darlin', tell me what to do to make things right. Darlin', tell me what to do to make things right. Tell me what to do for love. Give anything for your love, tell me how can I make it up?" 

**"Girl, you should know how I feel by now. There's so many ways to love, so just open your heart, and I'll find the way." ****"(Can't you see?) All I'm asking for is a chance to let me love you. (Can't you see?) Girl, you know this is where you should be. And if by chance we should find that it can be for you and I, then girl I'll try. I'll try. Oh, baby!" **

"Darlin', tell me what to do to make things right. Darlin', tell me what to do to make things right. Darlin', tell me what to do to make things right. (Tell me what to do to make things right.) Tell me what to do for love. I'll do anything, oh yeah. Baby, won't you tell me what to do to make things right? Baby, won't you tell me what to do to make things right?" 

**X**

The recording process had gone smoothly, and the single "Darlin'" was to be released in a few months.

Dallas sat in his bunk, tired from the day's events, and decided to Google himself. He did this quite often, just to check up on the public's perspective of him. However, he was quite surprised when a Google image popped up of him stealing the Axe. He was looking off to the side, on the look-out, and his lips were pursed, due to the whistling. He anxiously clicked the link, and his jaw dropped when he saw the title:

**DALLAS WINSTON STEALS COLOGNE.**

**X**

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	7. Pranks and Police and Louis Vuitton

**A/N:** Wow… it's been a long time since I updated! Sorry for the long wait! You guys know the drill: school, homework, friends, family, LIFE. Anywho, this story is always written on the whim. I can't work on it- I have to finish each chapter in one sitting. So, please read, review, and enjoy! Thanks to all of you who reviewed or added this story to your favorites and alerts. Check out my other stories when you get a chance!

My iPod gave me another idea for a story! It also gave me the idea for this one… Anyway, I'm not sure if any of you have heard the song All You Wanted by Michelle Branch, but I was just listening to it and I thought that it'd make a great Johnny/Dallas songfic. Listen to the song, and give me some feedback in a review or a PM. Thanks!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _The Outsiders _or any other references to pop culture in this story.

**Chapter Seven: Pranks and Police and Louis Vuitton **

"I'm comin', I'm comin'," Sodapop Curtis muttered as he made his way to the phone, a towel wrapped around his waist. "Yellow?" he answered, mimicking his father's old trademark.

"Yes, hello, this is the Boise Police Department. Is Dallas Winston available for speaking?" The man's voice was very deep, but oddly familiar.

Soda froze. What the hell did Dally do that could get the police's attention? He'd been doing good-well, doing things legally-ever since the band's popularity skyrocketed about a year and a half ago.

"Uh, yeah, sure. Hold on." Soda headed to the bunks and pulled Dally's curtain so hard it ripped off. "Dallas, the police are on the phone. What the hell did you do now?" he questioned, covering the speaker with his still soaking wet palm.

Dallas ignored Soda's question and grabbed the phone, gesturing to his laptop screen. Soda glanced at the picture and read the caption in awe. Dally finally got caught shoplifting, and now he was going to bring down Soda's band just like Justine Bieber had.

"Hello?" Dallas sounded unsure, for the first time Soda could recall.

"Hello, Mr. Winston. How are you smelling lately?" Dally furrowed his eyebrows together while stifling a laugh. This guy sounded like a total douche. "Pretty good, I hope," Dallas smoothly replied. He leaned against the back of his bunk and shooed Soda away. "What's it to you, anyways?"

"Mr. Winston, you don't have to imply that you have no idea. We know you shoplifted, thanks to those oh-so-helpful photographers! So please, get your booty over to the station immediately."

Booty? Was this guy serious?

"Mr. Winston?"

Dallas heard giggles from Two-Bit's bunk. "Yes, I'll be there in a minute. Just let me get some things together …"

_SMACK!_

"Ow, Dally!" Two-Bit cried while laughing hysterically. "What was that for?"

"For being a dumbass!" Dally yelled. He punched Two-Bit again just for fun, until there was a knock on the bus door.

"Who is it?" Two-Bit sang, leaping from his bed and hopping off to the door. He raised his eyebrows at the sight of two polished police officers. Each held a fancy-shmancy badge. "Why, hello officers!" he exclaimed, while taking one's badge. "Let me just examine this for un momento." He threw the badge back at the ticked off cop. "So, what's goin' down at the department?"

"Mr. Mathews, is your friend Dallas Winston here?" the tall cop questioned.

"Yep," Two-Bit chirped.

"Can we please speak with him?"

"I don't know, can ya?" Two-Bit joked, elbowing one of them in the ribs.

"Now, Two-Bit, you don't want to get arrested for assaulting a police officer," Dallas remarked smoothly as he swaggered up to the fuzz. "Can I help you gentleman?"

The officers looked confused. How much confidence could one kid have? "Yes, Mr. Winston-"

"Call me Dallas," the boy interrupted.

"Dallas-"

"Call me Dally."

"Okay? _Dally_-"

"Hey! That's D Fresh to you!" Ponyboy screamed out of nowhere, pointing a finger at the cop.

The middle aged man sighed and pinched the bridge of his huge, pointy nose before continuing. "Dally, the BPD has been informed of your shoplifting, but because your item was so small and inexpensive, we have decided to simply fine you. You owe us $750."

"Really? That's it? Pone, go get my wallet for me, will ya?"

Pony nodded and ran off to fetch Dally's prized Louis Vuitton wallet from his bunk. The wallet was a gift from Beyonce for Dally's nineteenth birthday. When Ponyboy returned, Dallas swiftly pulled out eight one-hundred dollar bills and handed them to the cop.

"Keep the change," he demanded before slamming the door in their faces. Dallas sure loved showing off his money.

**X**

**The Spanglish part was for you, waitin' for my winston. Sorry if Pony's little nickname for Dally was stupid; this chapter was lacking humor so I needed to y'know, spice it up a little bit! Again, sorry it's so short... I've been slacking lately! Hope you guys don't mind. Read, review, and enjoy! :D**


	8. The Teen Choice Awards

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Outsiders _and I most likely never will. Neither do I own the song "I Want It That Way" by the Backstreet Boys. Sorry to disappoint.

**Chapter Eight****: The Teen Choice Awards**

The band was receiving harsh criticism from every living being out there thanks to Dally's little stunt, but Soda was not going to let that bring down their performance at the Teen Choice Awards in Los Angeles this weekend. They were scheduled to perform their hit "I Want It That Way" during the middle of the show and they were also nominated for Best Single for "Everybody (Tulsa's Back)" and Best Male Group.

Currently, the band's manager Craig was having a "serious discussion" with the boys on how to behave and how to not behave during the show.

"Don't pull a Kristen Stewart and drop the fricken thing. Oh, and don't pull a "MC" and sit there and drabble while you're fuckin' wasted; we don't need any more bad hype," Craig instructed in his thick British accent.

Johnny raised his hand.

Craig sighed. "Johnny, how many times do I have to tell you; you do not have to raise your hand to ask a question! You're not in grade school anymore, my boy."

"I just wanted to know what this so-called 'MC' is," Johnny said, making air quotes on the MC.

"MC is Mariah Carey; y'know the singer? Thinks she's the place to be? She wants you to _touch her body_ because you_ belong together _and she'll be _lovin' you long time_ because _you'll always be her baby _and her _hero_," Craig babbled, naming every Mariah Carey song he could possibly think of.

Johnny, not ever hearing of any of these songs, looked seriously confused, so Ponyboy had to explain to him that it was just one of those "I think I'm funny because I'm cocky but nobody actually likes me" Craig jokes.

"Anyway, you guys will be presented by Lady GaGa for Best Male Group and Kristen Stewart and Robert Pattinson, you know, those freaks from the Twilight movies, for Best Single."

Ponyboy, Johnny, and Two-Bit all gasped in unison. "Lady Gaga?" Two-Bit exclaimed at the same time as Ponyboy and Johnny, who instead shouted,

"Kristen Stewart and Robert Pattinson?"

The three boys glanced at each other, before all fist pumpin'-a trait they inherited from Jersey Shore.

"Fist pumpin', fist pumpin'," Two-Bit barked in his deepest voice.

After the fist pumpin' party was over, the boys got back to business, rehearsing for their performance.

Soda took a quick sip of his iced latte and clapped his hands, signaling the group to huddle together. "Alright guys," he began, "we got this routine down pat. We just need to prove to Craig that we can dance just as amazing as we sing."

While rehearsing, Sodapop liked to imagine all of the screaming fans out there-the diehards, the starstruck teenage girls who were dying to touch the sweaty hands of their "husbands." These were the kids that truly had fine taste in music. These were the kids who would make the world a better place.

Soda stopped thinking about the fellow Troopers as their song ended and Craig clapped his hairy hands together.

"Brilliant, just brilliant. If only Pierce Brosnan could see me now," the middle-aged manager trailed on, for some reason gazing up at the ceiling of the studio. Pierce Brosnan had always been Craig's idol, and someday Craig would live up to him … right after he fired this so-called "band" after the Teen Choice Awards.

**X**

After days of intense rehearsals, hours of make-up and wardrobe, and minutes of Lady GaGa going on and on about the nominees for Best Male Group, the Tulsa Troop was tired, hungry, and a little bit clammy in the heat of Los Angeles.

"And the winner for Best Male Group is . . . " Lady GaGa opened the envelope, and beamed. "THE TULSA TROOP!" she screamed.

The boys couldn't help the grins that were plastered on their faces, the increase in their heart rates, or the butterflies in their stomachs as they strode up to the stage, swaggering with pure confidence, and accepted their first real award.

Two-Bit smooched Lady GaGa right on the mouth, which would later spark an insane amount of speculation, but the fake blonde smiled at him regardless as Sodapop went on to his speech.

"Wow, um, hey guys! How ya'll doin' out there?"

The audience cheered, and Soda's grin grew wider, if that was even possible. "Well, first of all, we'd like to thank God for blessing us with these extraordinary singing talents and our devilishly handsome good looks. We'd also like to thank all of the people who made our dream to be a boy band come true, our producers, our vocal teachers, and most importantly, Larry back at the Starbucks in Tulsa. It is you man, it's you who made this all possible!" Soda yelled at the camera, pointing his finger, tears welling up in his gorgeous brown eyes.

Dally patted his shoulder, as if to say, "That was deep, man, that was deep."

The Troop did not win the award for Best Single, but it was time for their performance, and Soda felt like he was on top of the world.

"_Yeah. You are my fire, the one desire. Believe, when I say, I want it that way," _Soda sang. _"But we are two worlds apart. Can't reach to your heart when you say, I want it that way."_

Then Dallas appeared on stage and the two heartthrobs sang together. _"Tell me why, ain't nothin' but a heartache. Tell me why ain't nothin' but a mistake. Tell me why I never wanna hear you say, I want it that way."_

Dallas had the next verse to himself, so he gently pushed Soda out of the way and took the spotlight, smiling at the screaming crowd. _"Am I your fire? Your one desire? Yes I know it's too late, but I want it that way."_

Soda joined Dallas again to sing the chorus. _"Tell me why, ain't nothin' but a heartache. Tell me why ain't nothin' but a mistake. Tell me why I never wanna hear you say, I want it that way._"

The two boys made way for Two-Bit as he took the stage, the other four boys dancing in the background. _"Now I can see that we're falling apart from the way that it used to be, yeah. No matter the distance, I want you to know that deep down inside of me…"_

Dallas stood next to Two-Bit, an elbow on the older boy's shoulder and started singing again. _"You are my fire, the one desire. You are, you are, you are, you are…"_

The whole troop joined in for the last verse, singing their hearts out. _"Don't wanna hear you say, ain't nothin' but a heartache, ain't nothin' but a mistake. (Don't wanna hear you say) I never wanna hear you say, I want it that way."_

"_Tell me why, ain't nothin' but a heartache. Tell me why, ain't nothing but a mistake. Tell me why, I never wanna hear you say. (Don't wanna hear you say it) I want it that way. Tell me why, ain't nothing' but a heartache, ain't nothing but a mistake. Tell me why, I never want to hear you say, I want it that way. 'Cause I want it that way."_

**X**

**Sorry if this chapter was kind of eh-ish. Read, review, and enjoy! :D**


	9. The Untitled Chapter

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _The Outsiders._

**A/N: **Thank you all for the wonderful reviews! The usual amount of reviews I get for each chapter of this story is around seven, but I got nine for this chapter! I also received a lot of ideas from the last chapter. I especially want to thank _ConfuzzledAtLife_, _DarryHasAFutureAndI'mInIt_, and _Small Town Big Dreams_, for the wonderful CSI idea. I might use that in a later chapter. Most of the suggestions came to good use in this chapter!

Also, sorry if I screw any of the stuff up, like the Olympic mittens … I had to Google some of the stuff you guys gave me because I was completely unaware about it.

**Chapter Nine: The Untitled Chapter**

"Dude, it's mad brick outside!" Two-Bit complained in his new "skater" lingo.

"We're in Vancouver, you dumb shit," Dallas muttered, spitting on the frozen street as the band made their way to the nearest Dunkin' Donuts.

"Well, it's a good thing I have my special, limited edition Vancouver 2010 Olympic mittens!" Soda cheered, holding his hands up so the gang could see the red mittens.

Darry ignored Soda and asked, "Whose great idea was it to walk to this place anyway?"

Two-Bit and Dallas shot Ponyboy a look.

"What?" Pony exclaimed, feeling accused.

"Hey guys, lay off. It ain't Pony's fault he digs walkin' too," Johnny defended his buddy.

Dallas nodded; he didn't want to upset Johnny. "Sorry Pone."

"It's 'ight, D Fresh," Pony forgave, creating the little gun symbol with his thumb and index finger and clicking his jaw.

Dallas rolled his eyes and leaned in to Two-Bit's ear. "We gotta get this kid a girl, man."

Two-Bit nodded in agreement, looking over at the kid before the gang entered Dunkin' Donuts.

**X**

The bus was unusually quiet. Everybody was absorbed in their own leisure activity.

Pony sat in his bunk, huddled under a thick black blanket, watching his favorite show in the entire world, J.O.N.A.S. He wasn't a _big_ fan of the JoBros, considering they were the Troop's competition, but he thought that Stella was really pretty, and being home-schooled and all, he didn't get to crush on many girls. The girls that were obsessed with the Troop were gorgeous and all, but he saw thousands every month, and they all looked the same.

Meanwhile, best buddies Steve and Soda were lounging on the couch out front, watching Star Trek on Demand. Soda's favorite character was Spock, whereas Steve preferred James T. Kirk. The two had vowed to wear Spock and Kirk costumes for Halloween that year.

Two-Bit sat on his lime green Apple laptop in his bunk, browsing Youtube's most viewed videos of the day. He scrolled down, until something particular caught his eye.

_I Want It That Way Parody- eBay by Weird Al Yankovic_

"Hmm," Two-Bit wondered aloud as he clicked on the video.

_A used ... pink bathrobe_

_A rare ... mint snow globe_

_A Smurf ... TV tray_

_I bought on eBay_

_My house … is filled with this crap_

_Shows up in bubble wrap_

_Most every day_

_What I bought on eBay_

_Tell me why (I need another pet rock)_

_Tell me why (I got that Alf alarm clock)_

_Tell me why (I bid on Shatner's old toupee)_

_They had it on eBay_

_I'll buy ... your knick-knack_

_Just check ... my feedback_

_"A plus plus!" they all say_

_They love me on eBay_

_Gonna buy (a slightly-damaged golf bag)_

_Gonna buy (some Beanie Babies, new with tag)_

_(From some guy) I've never met in Norway_

_Found him on eBay_

_I am the type who is liable to snipe you_

_With two seconds left to go, whoa_

_Got Paypal or Visa, what ever'll please ya_

_As long as I've got the dough_

_I'll buy ... your tchotchkes_

_Sell me ... your watch, please_

_I'll buy (I'll buy, I'll buy, I'll buy ...)_

_I'm highest bidder_

_Junk keeps arriving in the mail_

_From that worldwide garage sale_

_(Dukes Of Hazard ashtray)_

_Oh yeah ... (I bought it on eBay)_

_Wanna buy (a PacMan Fever lunchbox)_

_Wanna buy (a case of vintage tube socks)_

_Wanna buy (a Kleenex used by Dr. Dre)_

_(Found it on eBay)_

_Wanna buy (that Farrah Fawcet poster)_

_(Pez dispensers and a toaster)_

_(Don't know why ... the kind of stuff you'd throw away)_

_(I'll buy on eBay)_

_What I bought on eBay-y-y-y-y-y-y-y-y-y _

Two-Bit thought the video was hilarious, but he personally wondered if this would cause the Tulsa Troop bad hype. "Whatever," he said, shrugging his shoulders and moving on to the next video of a cat getting a bath.

In the bunk below Two-Bit's, Darry exited out of Farmville, silently wishing his prized strawberries a good night harvest. He picked up one of his books on the stack by his feet, and came up with the last book in the Percy Jackson series, _The Last Olympian. _He opened up to his place on page 298, removing his Pokemon bookmark from the spot, and shook his head at Pony, who always thought Darry hated reading novels.

Meanwhile, Johnny and Dallas sat in the booth by the lounge room, where Soda and Steve watched Star Trek. They were reading over the song that had been in the works for weeks now.

"So Dallas, what're we gonna name it?" Johnny questioned. Dallas recently adopted this strategy of giving the song a title after writing it.

"The Call," Dallas answered, biting on the tip of his blue pen. "This one's gonna be a hit, Johnnycake."

**X**

**Read, review, and enjoy! :D**


	10. The Arrival of a Savior

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Outsiders._

**A/N: **Vote on my Tulsa Troop poll! It's on my profile (where else would it be?) and it seems to be calling your name … creepy!

**Chapter Ten: ****The Arrival of a Savior**

"Boys, gather 'round now, we have lots to discuss!" Craig ordered in his thick British accent as he clapped his hands together.

Johnny opened one eye and peeked at his alarm clock, perched on the piece of cherry wood sticking out from the bunk by his head. He sighed, closing his eye and rolling over so he faced the wall of his warm, cozy, dark bunk.

Dallas pulled back the ruby red curtain on Johnny's bunk and ruffled the mop of dark hair atop the kid's head. "C'mon Johnnycake, wake up," he muttered, his voice deeper and groggy from sleep.

Johnny groaned, but got up regardless, yawning as he made his way over to the lounge room. He sat down next to Sodapop on the black leather couch, rubbing his bare arms from the cold.

"It's seven in the mornin'; why the hell am I awake?" Steve grumbled, scratching his shirtless back as he entered the living room.

"You're awake because I got something to tell your band," Craig explained. "Now sit down."

Steve sighed and sat next to Johnny, his head in his hands. He and Soda had stayed up until three in the morning, watching Star Trek twice in a row, once with Spanish subtitles so they could imitate the actors in Español.

"Now, since all you lazy tards are awake, I can tell you my news. I'm firing you all, each and every one of you, from the Tulsa Troop."

Soda stood up, brown eyes flaring with anger. "Are you serious? You can't fire us! You don't own the Tulsa Troop!"

Darry stood up too, restraining his brother from pouncing on the British asshole. "Soda, calm down," he advised, gently pushing Sodapop back down on the couch. "Now, let's discuss this calmly and rationally, like real men. Craig, why do you insist on firing the Tulsa Troop?" Darry crossed his arms.

"Man, he should be a lawyer or somethin'," Two-Bit whispered to Ponyboy. Ponyboy snickered in response.

"See, this is the funny part, mate," Craig chuckled, taking a seat on the empty armchair. "You boys seem to think that you can … sing." The man broke into hysterical fits of laughter, but somehow managed to quickly compose himself. "It's quite funny if you ask me."

"Actually, the funny part is that you seem to think that you can … be Pierce Brosnan. It's quite funny if you ask me, _mate_." Soda's voice lingered on the "t", and he had the sudden urge to bite Craig. "Whoa, calm down there Eddie Cullen," he whispered, trying to ease up the vampire part of himself. "We don't wanna offend Bella now, do we dear?"

The other seven men in the room stared at Soda, their jaws dropped in awe.

"S-Soda? Have you been reading my Twilight books?" Ponyboy whispered, pointing his finger at the menace who claimed to be his "brother". "Nobody, and I mean nobody," Pony raised his voice now, "touches my Twilight books. That clear?"

"Pony, it was only one time! I-"

"Shut it you, you … traitor!" Ponyboy screamed at Soda, still pointing.

"Don't you yell at him!" Steve yelled, pushing Ponyboy down to the ground.

Darry stood in the middle of Steve and Ponyboy now, glaring at Steve. "Hey, when I want my kid brother's best friend to tell my kid brother what to do, I'll ask ya, kid brother's best friend."

There was an awkward moment of silence until Craig broke the ice. "Anyway … I'm leavin' for Hollywood tonight. If you boys want the Tulsa Troop to survive, you must find a new manager." Craig shook Darry's hand. "Pleasure doing business with you. Pip-pip cheerio!"

"Farethewell!" Ponyboy sang from the floor, smiling and waving a hand at Craig.

Craig slammed the tour bus door behind him, setting off for the airport.

"So, what the hell do we do now?" Soda questioned his group.

Dallas sighed, bit his lip, and glanced at each of his buddies before speaking up. "I got an idea."

Soda's face brightened. "Really? That's great, Dal! What is it?"

"'Member my old buddy Tim Shepard? He's been out of work man; economy's bad. He knows a good deal 'bout today's music, and his uncle's head of Hollywood Records."

"What're ya getting at, Dal, huh? You sayin' we should hire some hood to run our band?" Darry raised his eyebrows.

Dallas snickered. "It's either Tim Shepard or nothin', and Dallas Winston don't do nothin'."

Ponyboy threw his hands in the air, leaning back on the couch. "Whoa! No need to switch to third person there, Dal."

Johnny nodded in agreement to Dally's suggestion. "I say we go with Dally's plan."

Dallas nodded too. "You're a good man, Johnny Cade."

**X**

"Oh Lucy, I'm home!" sang a deep voice.

Soda's dark brown eyes flicked open. "What the hell?" he muttered, sitting up on the couch.

"Hey Sodapop! What's crack-a-lackin'?"

Soda shook his head. "Hey Tim."

Dallas walked out of the bunk section, the hood of his black Nike sweatshirt covering his blonde head. "What's up Tim?" he asked, giving the older boy a bro hug.

"Nothin' much, just admiring your new girlfriend," Tim teased, pulling a magazine out of his duffel bag and pointed to the woman on the cover. "Miss Fox is quite the … well, fox."

Dallas grinned, grabbing the magazine and eyeing Megan Fox, the girl he'd asked out a few Saturdays ago.

"No kiddin' Dal, she said yes?" Soda questioned, an eyebrow cocked, a smile playing on his lips.

"Told 'im he was cute," Tim laughed. "So, where's the rest of the band? I got somethin' to tell ya'll."

"Asleep; trust me, they're not wakin' up. So, what's up?" Soda questioned.

Tim grinned. "I got you boys a stint on CSI: Miami," he informed them.

Dallas beamed. "Seriously? How'd you manage that one?"

"I know a guy," Tim replied.

Sodapop and Dallas nodded, as if this kind of thing happened every day.

"Anyway," Tim continued, "you'll never guess who you're workin' with."

"Who?" Dallas and Soda asked simultaneously.

"I'll give you a hint: he'll take you to the _candy shop_."

**X**

**Am I evil? Nah. Do I love acting evil? Well, maybe just a _tad… _P****lease read, review, and enjoy! :D**


	11. American Idol, wait, what?

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Outsiders._

**A/N: **Don't fret my little darlings, I know this chapter wasn't the CSI chapter, and I meant for it to be that way. The CSI chapter should be the next, but if it isn't, it will probably be out in a few weeks. I want to thank all of my reviewers because you're all awesome, especially TheOutsidersGirl4Lifee for giving me the inspiration for this chapter. Even though I told you it would probably be a long wait, I decided to use it for this chapter, because I'm still deciding how to write the CSI one, so **I need suggestions for the CSI chapter. Tell me in a review or PM what you think the case should be, as in who will get murdered and what role will the band play in the show. **

By the way, I was advised by a great reviewer to switch up the names of famous people and songs because it is against the rules of FanFiction to use them in stories. So, I will be making slight changes to the names of famous people in the chapters to come. If any of you are confused, I will put a key at the bottom of each chapter for the people, that way I don't spoil the surprise by putting the names in the beginning author's note.

Also, **vote on the Tulsa Troop poll on my profile! **

**Chapter Eleven: American Idol… wait, what?**

"This is discrimination!" Ponyboy shouted, arms crossed and his green-gray eyes blazing with fury. "How could they ask you two and desert us? What happened to the Troop? The other five of us, huh?"

Sodapop sighed, taking a seat next to his brother. "It's not discrimination, Ponyboy. They just asked the two most popular guys from the group, that's all."

"Don't flatter yourself, Soda," Darry mumbled from the corner chair, in the exact same position as Ponyboy. Truth be told, Darry was extremely jealous that he wouldn't get the opportunity to be a guest judge for the American Idol auditions in Atlanta, Georgia.

"Yeah," Steve agreed, glaring down at the white carpet he was sitting on.

"Well, at least we're all gonna be on CSI, right? I mean, Tim said we would all be making guest appearances, along with that candy shop guy," Soda exclaimed, trying to cheer the guys up.

"60 Cent," Dallas piped in. Tim had told Soda and Dally a few days ago that they'd be working with someone who could take them to the candy shop, using one of 60's songs to trick them. Dallas knew better, but Soda was still clueless as to who this "candy shop" guy was, so Dallas had filled him in later on.

"Yeah, him, right. It'll be lots of fun, guys! We'll all be… _actors! _Yay!" Soda giggled, clapping his hands together.

Dallas raised his eyebrows. "Uh, I gotta go call Meg."

"Yeah, I have to go um, to the bathroom!" Darry lied, running to his bunk from Soda.

"Same!" Two-Bit declared.

"I have to go uh, brush my hair," Steve mumbled.

"And I have to go watch my favorite show J.O.N.A.S!" Ponyboy exclaimed, the only one being truly honest and realistic.

Johnny glanced nervously between Ponyboy and Soda before deciding. "Yeah, what Pony said."

Sodapop Curtis sat in confusion, watching as his best buddies ran off. "Was it something I said?"

**X**

The next morning, all was silent in the Tulsa Troop's tour bus. They were in Atlanta, Georgia, and Dallas and Sodapop were just waking to get ready for their long day as guest judges on American Idol.

"Dally, what should I wear?" Soda asked.

Dallas glared at the sixteen year old boy in front of him. "Clothes."

Soda rummaged through his Louis Vutton suitcases, before coming up with jeans, a wife beater with a button up blue flannel shirt over it, and his brand new blue checkered scarf. Paired with Ponyboy's oversized Chanel sunglasses and Two-Bit's brand new Nikes, it was the perfect outfit for the perfect occasion. Walking out of the bathroom and into the living room, Sodapop took notice of Dally's outfit. He was wearing a wife beater as well, but with a black leather jacket over it and blue jeans, with his worn out black Chucks.

"You look like a '60s boy," Soda informed him.

"You look like a woman," Dallas snapped, "Lose the sunglasses and the scarf, you creeper."

"No!" Soda objected, crossing his arms like Ponyboy had done yesterday, although he did take off the sunglasses.

Dally rolled his blue eyes as he plugged his earphones into his iTouch. He decided to go light on the music, choosing a bluesy Niley Cyrus track. Soda on the other hand was listening to something completely different, opting for a song by Avenged Sixfold. Sodapop enjoyed heavy metal; it totally fit his happy-go-lucky personality.

The boys were at the audition sight in no time, dodging paparazzi as they entered the building, surrounded by security guards with more experience than the Secret Service. They followed the guards to the room they were instructed to meet in, and were soon within ten feet of five fellow A-Listers.

Dallas had never met any of the judges, including Simon Cower, Randy Johnson, Tara DioGuardi, and Helen DeGeneres, along with the show's host, Ryan Landcrest, so he was determined to make a good first impression, but Soda beat him to the punch.

"Hi! I'm Sodapop Curtis, and that's Dallas Winston," he said cheerfully, pointing to Dally, whose jaw was practically on the floor. Was Soda taking control? Well, he did all the time, but Dallas was perfectly capable of introducing himself to a bunch of people.

"Good morning boys! I'm Ryan Landcrest, the host, as you all know, since I'm the most annoying person on television who also has the whitest teeth in the western hemisphere! Oh, and let me introduce you to the others! This is Helen DeGeneres, everybody loves her because she's naturally hilarious. This is Tara DioGuardi; we don't know much about her because most of the time she's busy writing other people's songs because they can't write their own. Simon Cower is the biggest pessimist on planet Earth and he's always up for insulting someone, like me!" Ryan stopped to breathe and giggle, but proceeded with introducing Randy. "Oh! And this is Randy Johnson. He still thinks saying "dog" is cool, but we all know that was SO 2001. So, are you guys ready for some judging?"

"As long as you won't be in the room, we're fine," Dallas mumbled, earning a death glare from Soda.

Ryan laughed nonetheless, since he thought everyone loved him, and proceeded to exit the room to talk to the next "American Idols".

The chit chat simmered down, and soon enough, people were flooding into the audition rooms with hopes of either impressing their grandmothers by being utterly stupid and the others, who actually had some talent but played kiss ass to the judges.

In walked a tall, lanky redhead with buck teeth. "Good morning Pippi Longstocking," Dallas whispered to Soda, who chuckled.

"Good morning. What's your name?" Simon greeted the girl, who looked about eighteen.

"Candy Brown," she giggled in her thick Southern accent.

"Okay Candy, and what will you be singing today?" Tara questioned, taking a sip of the water in her Coca Cola cup.

Candy grinned. "I'll be singing 'As Long As You Love Me' by The Tulsa Troop," she said, winking at Soda and Dallas.

Dally leaned into Soda's ear and whispered, "I think I just threw up in my mouth or something."

"Go ahead, Candy," Helen encouraged the teenager.

The redhead exhaled, and smiled, yet again, before singing in a very cracked voice, "Although loneliness has always been a friend of mine, I'm leaving my life in your hands. People say I'm crazy and that I am blind, risking it all in a-"

Simon held up his hand. "Please stop," he interrupted her. Candy obeyed, and raised her eyebrows in hope. "Candy, that was horrible. You cannot sing to save your life."

Candy's face fell. "I can-I can sing another song."

Randy shook his head. "Sorry dog, but I don't think this competition is for you."

"Maybe you can enter a beauty pageant!" Soda piped in before he and Dallas burst into fits of laughter.

"Maybe you can start wearing men's clothes!" Candy countered, stomping out of the room without her golden ticket.

Dallas cracked up, but Soda just sighed. They'd never understand his love of fashion.

Just a moment later, a tall African American man walked in. He looked much older than the age limit of American Idol, which was twenty-eight years, but anyone was allowed a shot; anything to please the fans, right?

"Hello. Your name?" Tara greeted the contestant, who was clad in jeans, a black T-shirt, black sunglasses, and a black hat.

"General Darry Platt," the man replied.

"General? Wow. That's hot, dog," Randy commented, thinking he was amazing for his totally outdated gangster lingo.

"And what song will you be singing for us today, General? Helen questioned.

General pulled up his pants and answered, "My song, called 'Pants on the Ground'."

Simon snickered. "Pants on the Ground?" he asked in his British accent.

"Pants on the Ground," General clarified in his opposite Southern accent. This was Atlanta, after all.

"Alright. Go right ahead then," Tara said.

"Pants on the ground, pants on the ground, lookin' like a _fool_ with your pants on the ground! With the gold in your mouth, hat turned sideways, pants hit the ground. Call yourself a cool cat, lookin' like a fool walking downtown with your pants on the ground!"

Everyone was in stitches, especially Tara and Sodapop. Dallas and Simon were not so thrilled, but still got a kick out of it as the General started break dancing while continuing the song. Eventually, the song wrapped up, and General was told that he was too old to be enrolled in the competition.

"Lookin' like a _fool _with your pants on the ground!" Soda sang quietly, causing Dallas to laugh.

The day went on with some fabulous talent and other stupid performances, but nothing had caused the boys to laugh more than the pants song. One thing was for sure: The boys would be back for more American Idol next year.

**X**

It was rounding midnight, and Sodapop stood in the shower, letting the hot water fall onto his body as he shampooed his golden blonde hair. "Lookin' like a fool with your pants on the ground!" he sang. But little did he know, that ten feet away, Dallas laid in his bunk, singing the exact same tune.

**X**

**60 Cent = 50 Cent**

**Niley Cyrus = Miley Cyrus**

**Avenged Sixfold = Avenged Sevenfold**

**Simon Cower = Simon Cowell**

**Randy Johnson = Randy Jackson**

**Tara DioGuardi = Kara DioGuardi**

**Helen DeGeneres = Ellen DeGeneres **

**Ryan Landcrest = Ryan Seacrest**

**General Darry Platt = General Larry Platt**

**Read, review, and enjoy! :D**


	12. CoStarring on CSI Part One

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Outsiders._

**A/N: **The idea to have a chapter like this was given to me by an incredible reader, _Small Town Big Dreams_. The author who gave me the inspiration for this chapter is _waitin' for my winston_; she has reviewed every single chapter and is always helping me. Thanks to you two and to all of my other supporters!

**Chapter Twelve: Co-Starring on Crime Scene Investigation Part One**

Miami and Dallas Winston did not mix well. First off, Dallas was not a big fan of hot weather. He claimed that he just preferred the cold, but the rest of the gang knew better. They had been Dally's best friends since he moved to Tulsa from New York years back. They knew him better than anyone, and they knew the only reason Dallas Winston did not like hot weather was caused by a _very _bad condition: Sunburn.

"I can't believe you idiots dragged me out here," Dallas muttered, sky blue eyes hidden beneath a pair of non-designer sunglasses, thank you very much. Ponyboy was wearing his Chanel sunglasses, the ones designed for _women, _but Dallas was as content as a hood could be with his cheap black glasses, purchased at a local drug store. He flipped a page of his script for the show they'd be co-starring on, Crime Scene Investigation, or CSI: Miami. Filming began the next day, and everyone was working their asses off to memorize their lines.

Darry rolled his eyes as he read his script too. He had a pretty big part, which was remarkable, considering he was one of the least popular members of the band. "Just quit it, will ya Dal?"

Dallas sighed and combed his fingers through the mop of platinum blonde hair atop his head. "I'll quit it when the sun ain't fryin' my hair."

Steve snickered at Dally's remark and took a drag of his cigarette. "You're such a DQ, Dallas."

Dallas threw a look at Steve. "What the hell does 'DQ' mean?" he implored, knowing that whatever the hell it was, it wasn't a compliment.

"Drama queen, duh," Ponyboy commented, as if Dallas should by all means know the stupid language of teenage girls. Then again, Ponyboy was the closest thing to a teenage girl in the gang, and this statement was only emphasized by the oversized, designer sunglasses he was wearing. Actually, Sodapop came pretty damn close to being the girliest one too. After all, he had tried to wear Pony's sunglasses to the American Idol auditions in Atlanta last week.

"Whatever, man," Dallas mumbled.

"Steve, you know you're not supposed to be smoking in public!" Soda whined, pulling the cancer stick from Steve's mouth. "Smoking is a bad influence to children and we don't need to lose any more fans after Justine."

"Aw shucks, Sodapop, you always know how to crash a party," Steve muttered as he stood up, running to the ocean to get crashed by waves with Two-Bit, who was currently sweet-talking some fellow Troop fans, each arm slung around a blonde's shoulder.

The rest of the day roamed on, and the boys were on their way to grab a bite for dinner at Panera Bread. Panera was one of the best places for college students and business people to go and study or work, because the environment was just so comfortable. The jazz music was soft, the place was air-conditioned, and the only background noise besides the music was the soft hum of casual conversation.

The seven boys ordered ten loafs of bread; one for each, and an extra for Darry, Dally, and Two-Bit, since they were the three biggest in the gang. Each had a bowl of soup, a salad, and a sandwich, along with their bread and a beverage. The dinner was silent as each Trooper read their lines. Sleep came quickly for the sexy seven. They'd have a big day tomorrow.

**X**

"These shoes do not match my shirt."

Elaina Gold glanced up at the sixteen-year-old boy standing in front of her. "Excuse me?"

"I _said, _these shoes do not match my shirt."

The thirty-four-year-old woman placed her fragile hands on her narrow hips. "Sir, I have been the wardrobe consultant for television shows for the past ten years. If you have a problem with the way I'm doing my job, please, enlighten me."

An overdramatic sigh escaped the lips of the teenager. "Green plus orange is a recipe for disaster, period."

"I refuse to change the outfit. You're supposed to be part of a band, not a designer," Elaina argued, bending down to tie the laces on the white and orange sneaker. "Like I said, if you have an issue with the way I'm doing my job, just tell that to my boss and-"

"Security!" Soda screeched, making Elaina jump in surprise. In an instant, two big-muscled men strode in the dressing room. "Boys, this woman is making me wear orange and green together!"

The taller, bigger man gasped in shock. "Oh no, she didn't!" he exclaimed, snapping his fingers.

Soda bobbed his head fervently. "Oh yes, she did."

"Ma'am, we are going to have to take you to time-out," the second man said, pulling Elaina up by her wrist.

"B-but I didn't even do anything!" the poor girl cried as she was escorted out of the room.

"Bitch, be warned! You have just been Soda-d!"

**X**

A standing ovation at a boy band's concert was not rare, considering all of the fans were already on their feet, screaming and dancing the entire time. The Troop had just finished their new hit song, "The Call", and were feeling as good as ever.

The seven boys walked to their dressing rooms; their foreheads covered with sweat and their mouths grinning with satisfaction. Soda's chocolate brown eyes were dancing with delight; they'd done it again: swept a bunch of girls off of their feet.

Steve moseyed on into his room, turning the doorknob, only to find that it was unlocked. A bit taken aback, but tired nonetheless, he ignored the quirk, and entered the dressing room.

The deep purple of the walls annoyed him; he was tired, and had a throbbing headache. He peeled off his short-sleeved, button-up white shirt, threw it down on the wood floor, and ran his fingers through the mass of dark swirls of hair on his head as he glared at himself in the dirty mirror.

Steve exhaled and sat down on the crimson cushioned chair. The seventeen-year-old boy was lost in thought, until he discovered a piece of folded loose-leaf on the vanity, his name scribbled on the front. He slowly unfolded the paper, expecting it to be a joke from Sodapop, but was indeed shocked when he read the note.

_Steven Randle,_

_You have two hours to live._

_Sincerely,_

_Your Worst Nightmare, XOXO_

**X**

**I promise, any confusion will be cleared up next chapter, which should be posted soon. You can thank my school district for giving me a snow day (the third one this year!) because that is the only reason this chapter is up so soon. Please read, review, and enjoy! :D**


	13. CoStarring on CSI Part Two

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Outsiders._

**A/N: **I am SO incredibly sorry for the long wait. Between school, homework, soccer, studying, babysitting, laundry, and feeling disgustingly sick (I have a major headache right now), I've been way too busy to update this story. In my two week long hiatus from this story, I have officially pictured Dallas as a blonde in my head (sayonara, Matt Dillon!), published a new one-shot called "Just Another Suicide", updated "Sixteen Candles", and have also read some pretty cool stories on here. Give me some sweet, inspirational reviews so I'll (maybe) update this weekend. Also, for all you "Here Comes the Sun" readers, the update will probably take another week. Sorry about that, but I haven't even started writing the chapter!

**VOTE ON MY TULSA TROOP POLL **if you haven't already! Check out my upcoming stories on my profile…

The new pen name is an experiment. I just needed something fresh and new. **I used to be **_**likealovestoryxx.**_

**Chapter Thirteen: Co-Starring on Crime Scene Investigation Part Two **

Steve quickly shook off the chills that crept up his spine. If this was some sort of sick prank the gang pulled, it was a success, because Steve was scared shitless.

The seventeen-year-old exhaled, trying to cleanse himself free of worry and panic. He slipped out of his worn, ripped Levis, replaced them with a pair of warm, freshly dried pajama pants, and grabbed his things, prepared to meet the guys outside to catch the bus.

Steve turned the knob, pulled open the door, and closed it quietly behind him. Walking away, trying to clear his mind, Steve was too nervous to remember the piece of loose-leaf back in his room. The piece of loose-leaf that held his death note.

**X**

"On the radio, whoa oh, on the radio!" Soda sang as he stepped out of the bathroom, practically running into a sprinting Ponyboy. "Chill out Pone; J.O.N.A.S. doesn't start for another two minutes."

Ponyboy flipped him the bird in response and hopped into his nice, warm, comfortable hotel bed.

"Wow, nothin' comes between that kid and J.O.N.A.S.," Soda muttered, shaking his head.

Dallas sat at the kitchen island, playing around on his lime green laptop. He was exiting out of Darry's Farmville account on Facebook, muttering about how stupid Darry was for even playing that shit. "Hey Soda, you seen Steve?" Dally questioned, chin resting in his palm, eyes still glued to the computer screen.

Soda shrugged. "He ain't in the bathroom. He in the other room?"

Darry suddenly appeared in the living room. "No, I just checked."

Soda's brown eyes grew wide. "Well, if he's not in the other room, and he ain't in the bathroom, where the hell is he?"

**X**

Walking down the suddenly darkened street, Steve scanned the sidewalks for a nearby pay-phone. Mentally cursing himself for leaving his Blackberry on the bus, Steve began to punch in Soda's cell on the pay-phone.

Flying past the intersection, a royal blue 2010 Cadillac CTS Sport Sedan stopped short by the curb near Steve. Two guys with fancy beige Dockers and red collared sweaters exited the car and approached Steve.

"Wow, look at that gre- I mean, boy-band faggot with the, uh, shirt," the handsome blonde boy teased.

The one with the head of crazy dark curls nodded and smirked in response, obviously humored by his buddy's attempt at an insult. "What's this so-called 'millionaire' doing out on the streets at night? Huh, Steve Randle?"

Instinctively, Steve reached to his back pocket, but quickly remembered when Soda nagged the boys to throw their switchblades out. "What do you want?" Steve's dark eyes transitioned to small slits filled with anger and impatience. He was too cocky to admit fear was in the mix as well.

The blonde one snorted and glimpsed to his right, as if trying to hold in a laugh. "Do you even know who we are?"

Steve's eyes narrowed as far as possible without closing them. When the boys seemed blurry, he stopped his tuff façade and instead crossed his arms. A light bulb (fluorescent, of course; go green!) flashed on inside his mind. That's where they were from! These two were the lead singers of the Tulsa Troop's rivals, the Stuntin' Socials. The SS was a complete knock-off of the TT. The Socs were also from Tulsa and had created their band out of pure revenge, due to the greasers' victory at the last rumble that Steve's gang participated in over a year ago.

Bob Sheldon, head of the Stuntin' Socials, couldn't even sing. He lip-synched on stage, something the TT was able to keep secret (shh!) and even recently stole Jay-Z from them. Dallas and Jay had planned an all-star collaboration, until the Stuntin' Socials offered him an even better deal.

"Oh, we just want some good-hearted fun; ain't that right, Randy?" Bob sugar-coated his voice and grabbed Steve's arm. "Pin 'im down, Randy!"

Randy's fist connected with Steve's nose, and after about seven slugs, Steve slipped into a gentle wave of unconsciousness.

**X**

"Soda, we shouldn't go out lookin' for 'im. It's getting late now, and he's probably just fuckin' around with some chick anyways. Let's just wait 'til mornin', then we'll figure it out," Dallas suggested.

Sodapop sat restless on the floor, leaning up against the white couch. "I just don't got a good feelin' 'bout this, that's all."

Darry threw an arm around his brother's shoulder and smiled a half-hearted grin. "Tell ya what, buddy, the two of us will go out and search for Steve, and then if he's not around, we'll call it a night and see 'im in the mornin'. Sound like a plan?"

Soda glanced up at Darry with hopeful eyes and nodded. "Just let me text him again." In an instant, Soda whipped out his iPhone from the pocket of his sweatshirt and dialed Steve's number. Asking him yet again where he was, he sent the text message and waited minutes for a response. "Steve always replies to my texts on time," he mumbled.

"Really? He never answers mine," Ponyboy piped in.

Everybody ignored Ponyboy, and Dallas decided to tag along with Sodapop and Darry. He called shotgun, so Soda had to sit in the back seat, all along, when his best friend was M.I.A. How could life get any worse at this moment?

Well, Sodapop Patrick Curtis was about to find out.

**X**

"What the hell, man? You didn't have to take it that far!" Randy exclaimed, sweat dripping down his forehead. He was unable to stop Bob's attack, and for that, he would feel guilty for life.

Bob spat on the body, all jealousy pouring out with that last bit of saliva. "What's done is done," he stated, beginning to walk away from a hysterical Randy.

"We can't just leave him here!" Randy cried, gesturing towards the limp body on the side of the road.

Bob turned quickly, glanced at the dead kid, and shrugged. "Ain't like he's goin' anywhere anyway."

Randy's heart pounded in his chest with guilt and anger, but he took a deep breath and counted to ten, just like his therapist had advised.

With ten more steps of Randy's feet, Steve Randle was left alone on the sidewalk.

Cold on the sidewalk.

Dead on the sidewalk.

**X**

**Read, review, and enjoy! :D**


	14. CoStarring on CSI Part Three

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Outsiders._

**A/N: **I am SO happy with all the feedback I got for the last chapter. So far I've received eighteen reviews from even some new readers, which is awesome. For any of you who were upset with the last chapter (none of you really said that, but you definitely were a little beside yourselves), I promise you that all confusion WILL be cleared up in this chapter, and you will definitely be happier with this chapter than the last.

Okay, on with the regular shtuff…

**VOTE ON MY TULSA TROOP POLL **if you haven't already!

Check out my upcoming stories on my profile…

The new pen name is an experiment. I just needed something fresh and new. **I used to be **_**likealovestoryxx**_** and **_**aae chase the sunset**_**.**

**NEW MINI POLL THAT IS VITAL TO UPCOMING CHAPTERS:**

What is your favorite kind of puppy?

Just give me some answers in your review or a PM if you're just too cool to review. ;)

Oh, and I promise, this isn't some sort of creepy random survey… It really is necessary!

Muchos gracias to _TheOutsidersGirl4Lifee_, 'cause she's awesome and gave me some pretty shnazzy ideas. :D

**Chapter Fourteen: Co-Starring on Crime Scene Investigation Part Three**

Soda supposed rap music was not the best thing to listen to when your best friend's life was at stake, but right now, he could just not give a flying fuck what kind of music they were listening to. All that mattered at that moment was Steven Randle.

And that's why these next moments would be the hardest of his life.

It all happened in quite a blur. Darry shut up with his horrible rapping and stopped the car short.

Dallas, also rapping, glanced at Darry, his light eyebrows bunched together with confusion. Darry opened his car door and ran out, Dallas and Sodapop in tow.

Soda didn't know what they were doing at first, but the minute he saw the body, he knew. "Steve!" he screamed, sprinting towards his best friend. "Steve," he cried, on the verge of a breakdown it seemed, as he fell on his knees next to the greaser's body on the cold sidewalk. "C'mon, buddy, don't die on me now. You can't die on me now!"

Dallas knelt down next to Sodapop. "Soda, he's already dead."

Soda shook his blonde head back and forth, refusing to believe that his best friend was killed tonight. This was not happening. This could not happen. Nobody could ever feel this horrible.

"Y'know what? We're gonna find who did this. We're gonna get even with those Socs," Dally continued. "We'll do it for Steve, man, we'll do it for Steve!"

Darry hugged Sodapop close, cradling the bawling boy in his arms. "It's okay, Soda. Everything's gonna be alright, buddy," Darry assured, looking around the nighttime scene for some evidence.

**X**

"Man, I wonder if Steve's alright," Johnny murmured, tapping his foot repeatedly. Dally, Soda, and Darry had been gone for about thirty minutes now, and there was still no word on Steve's location.

Ponyboy nodded in agreement. "Don't worry 'bout it too much, Johnny. Knowin' Steve, he's probably getting all boozed up or somethin'."

"Lucky bastard," Two-Bit muttered, "Soda don't even let me go out and get drunk anymore."

Suddenly, Ponyboy's Voyager started ringing. _"'Cause I'm burnin' up, burnin' up, for you baby," _sang Nick Jonas in Ponyboy's ringtone, "Burnin' Up" by the Jonas Brothers.

As Ponyboy scrambled to find his phone, Two-Bit shook his head. "Man, I can't believe that kid still listens to our competition."

Pony clicked the green phone button, accepting the call from Sodapop, and held the cell phone up to his ear. "Hello?"

"_Ponyboy?"_

"Dar? Why are you callin' from Soda's phone?"

Darry ignored Pony's question and continued speaking. _"Ponyboy, listen to me. I've got bad news. Steve is dead. He was stabbed by someone, and we don't know who. Soda's sobbing, and Dallas is on the phone with the police department right now. I need you to tell Two-Bit and Johnnycake to meet us at the McDonald's by the place where we performed last night. Do you understand me, Pone?"_

"Darry, I can't believe this is happening!" Ponyboy cried. He felt his knees buckle, and it wasn't long before he fainted on the hardwood floor.

**X**

"Soda . . . Is somebody sick?" Ponyboy croaked, gray-green eyes blinking open to a bright white hospital room.

Sodapop sniffled. "Yeah, Pone. Somebody's sick."

"Soda . . . Am I sick?"

"No, you tard. Steve's dead, you fainted, and then they found the idiots who killed Steve. They're from that band, you know, the Stuntin' Socs'?" Dallas informed him.

Ponyboy gasped. "Oh, yeah! It's all coming back to me now!"

Dallas rolled his eyes. "Whatever, man."

"CUT!" the director, Jack, screamed.

Dallas groaned loudly and turned to him. "What did I do now?"

Jack crossed his arms and sighed dramatically. "It needs more 'oomph!' It needs more flavor."

Steve rolled his eyes from his special customized chair. "You got me killed on the fuckin' show. Ain't that enough _flavor_ for one episode?"

"Someone dies in every episode, dip-shit," Dallas reminded him.

"Dally," Jack began, "one of your good friends just died. You need to be upset, hysterical, and reassure Ponyboy that everything will be alright."

"Whatever, man," Dallas repeated.

"And . . . ACTION!"

"Ponyboy! I am so upset that I'm hysterical about Steve's death. I just wanted to reassure you that everything will be alright!" Dallas exclaimed, practically laughing.

"Oh, Dallas, I know! Thank you so much for showing me your softer side! I thought you only did that with girls with really freaky names!"

"CUT!"

"Shoot, I really hate this guy," Steve muttered.

**X**

**Ooh, Steve's alive? Please read, review, and enjoy! Oh, and don't forget to answer my dog question!**


	15. Preppy Pups and Mangled Mutts

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Outsiders._

**A/N: **Well, I was re-reading a past chapter and realized I forgot to include 50 Cent in the CSI chapters! No one picked up on it, so I'm just going to leave it in the other chapter but I won't be correcting the CSI chapters. Sorry this update took so long; I've been extremely busy and stressed out lately, but now I'm on vacation, so it's all good. Thank you to everyone who voted on my mini poll! Having some feedback for that was really cool, and I got lots of different opinions. I hope you all enjoy this chapter, although I must warn you, it contains heaps of dialogue, unfinished skits that you guys can choose the endings to, and also some terms that you may or may not find offensive. It's also short, kind of cheesy, and far from well written, but hey, it's an update. I never promise perfect stuff, especially with this story.

**Chapter Fifteen: Preppy Pups and Mangled Mutts**

Darry paced back and forth in the kitchen, palm cupped around his chin. He had on that thinking face, and Sodapop knew that meant something was up.

"Hey Darry, what's going on?"

Darry glanced at his brother and stopped pacing. "Well, I've been thinking," he began, that mature tone creeping into his voice. Since money was obviously not an issue anymore, Darry had begun to enjoy the authority he had as a legal guardian.

Steve appeared in the room and took a seat on the bar stool next to Soda. "This can't be good."

"Guys, how would you feel if we got a dog?" Darry suddenly questioned, eyes aimed at Soda.

Soda's brown eyes lit up. "A dog? Like, a real dog?"

"No, the fake kind," Steve commented.

"Stuffed," Darry corrected.

Soda clapped his hands together. "I'm up for it. Yeah, I mean, totally. One hundred percent. Let's do it."

**X**

Adoption was the way to go, Darry decided as the gang piled into the back of his Bentley. Tour had just wrapped up, officially ending with the Troop's stunt on CSI: Miami, which had gone over with fans very well. Everybody "OMG I LOVED IT" and the salary was… oh, let's just say very… _satisfying._

"Where's this restaurant?" Ponyboy whined from the back seat. "We've been in this car for like, three minutes and forty-six seconds."

"Forty-seven, forty-eight," Two-Bit continued, tapping his foot restlessly on the back of the passenger seat. Did nobody understand how difficult it was for him to hide this from Ponyboy? How could he keep a dog from Ponyboy? Was that humanly possible? Why was the gang even keeping this secret from Ponyboy? Why am I making Two-Bit ask all of these questions?

Darry exhaled with artificial impatience. "Ponyboy, how many times have I told you this? The restaurant is seven minutes and twenty-three seconds away. GOD."

"Otay," Ponyboy giggled, falling on Steve's shoulder as Darry made a harsh turn.

Steve pushed Pony off. "Dude, what the fuck?" he exclaimed, a disgusted expression on his face. "Just 'cause I died on some TV show doesn't mean you can go all touchy-feely on me."

Johnny nodded vigorously. "Yeah, don't be all up on his grill, Pone."

**X**

"This doesn't look like a Mexican restaurant," Ponyboy discovered as the black Bentley pulled up in a vacant parking space near the shelter's entrance.

"And you don't look like a flamer, but that don't mean you ain't one," Steve muttered under his breath.

"I ain't gay!" Ponyboy screamed.

Steve threw his hands up in defense. "Chill."

"Will you two please stop? You've been at it this whole week. You're tearing us all apart!" Soda yelled dramatically.

"Don't be such a bawl baby, Soda," Dallas said, "You're just like a kicked-"

"PUPPY!" Pony squeaked with delight, hopping up to the Yellow Labrador Retriever sitting all alone in the corner. "Oh, well, you're a big puppy."

A tall teenager with long dark hair stepped up to Ponyboy. "That's Tex," said the boy. "He's eleven months old."

"Aw, Darry, can we keep 'im?" Soda asked, the dog licking his face.

Darry couldn't help but grin at his brothers interacting with the dog. It'd been so long since they had an animal in the house, much less a dog, and it was again the time to have something else they could all care for together.

"How much?" Darry asked, knowing that the shelter required a donation after the adoption of an animal.

The boy bit his lip. "He's a special dog…"

"I'll give you a thousand for 'im."

The brown-headed kid looked at Darry. "Are you serious, man? A thousand? That's like… a lot."

Darry shrugged. "It's for a good cause, right? I just want to see his papers first, you know, see what's up with the dog first. That okay? Oh, I'm Darrel Curtis, by the way."

"Chris," the boy introduced himself, holding out a hand to shake. "And of course; we need to show you Tex's papers anyway before you officially adopt him. He should be able to leave with you guys by tomorrow."

Darry grinned. "Hey boys," he called out to his buddies. "How does a dog sound?"

**X**

**Well, the majority of you asked for Labs, so that's what I picked. I also received some inspiration from the movie "Marley and Me," which I just watched a few hours ago. Please read, review, and enjoy! Ideas or suggestions are totally welcomed. :D **


	16. Ghosts of Girlfriend's Past

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Outsiders._

**A/N: **I'm popping out another update for my buddy, the overtired but always enthusiastic _ConfuzzledAtLife_. This chapter (besides the beginning) is not that funny; it is more serious and ironic. Reviews are always appreciated.

**Chapter Sixteen: Ghosts of Girlfriend's Past**

In Los Angeles, California plays a happy Labrador Retriever in the home of seven young men.

"And I'm gonna buy you a new doggy bed, and a new doggy bowl-you know, those kinds in the shape of the bone? And I'll buy you some squeaky doggy toys and some other stuff and some treats-hey! You want a box of Milkbones? I'll get you some Milk-"

"Two-Bit, SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Dallas roared. Tex barked in what seemed like an agreement, and resumed to playing on the living room floor with Ponyboy.

Steve spun around on the black leather bar stool, watching the dog with both interest and disgust. "Shouldn't we give it a bath or somethin'? Don't they get fleas? And what about those nails? Don't it need a scratchin' post?"

Dallas snickered but grinned, popping a cigarette between his lips. "Dogs don't use scratching posts, you dumb shit; cats do."

Steve furrowed his brows together and sneered. "Well, uh, you're not s'posed to be smokin' in the house."

"Damn straight!" Darry echoed from the kitchen as he emptied Mrs. Curtis's prized china plates from the stainless steel dishwasher. The Curtis home was utterly plain, considering their interior designer insisted the house be completely modern. The walls were a bright pasty color, the floors a light wood, the couches were white leather with red pillows thrown on for more "flare," and the tables glass with white circular vases filled with white lilies set on white silk runners. Over all, everything was just . . . white.

Moments later and the awkward smoking incident aside, a sharp ringing noise echoed through the house, followed by three hard knocks on the walnut double doors. The boys all exchanged confused glances before Darry walked over and opened the door.

As Dallas watched from the couch, his blonde eyebrows raised, his icy blue eyes grew wide, the cigarette fell to the floor as his jaw dropped. His pale hands began shaking, he stood up, ventured over to the guest, and gazed admiringly at the woman in front of him.

"Now now, Dally, we don't want Miss Megan to start any trouble, do we?" Sylvia cooed, cupping her ex-boyfriend's chin in her palm. "The little brunette wouldn't want to visit ghosts of girlfriend's past with the 'love of her life,' would she? Oh, but you are just too cute! Singing in that perfect voice of yours, making teenage girls faint when they lay eyes on your flawless face, sweeping random women off their feet with every swift move you make. It's not fair to me, is it? Because I'm just a thing of the past who's come flying through your front door-"

"Darry's front door," corrected said greaser.

Sylvia cleared her throat and continued. "Flying through _Darry's _front door to come back to you."

Dallas stood, staring, speechless. "You . . . are coming back to . . . me. Me! Me?"

"No, I'm actually coming back to Johnny," Sylvia sarcastically remarked, earning a deep crimson blush from the young greaser across the room.

Dally's blue eyes rolled, gently taking Sylvia's hand off his face. "What about Megan?" he asked, twirling a blonde lock of Sylvia's through his fingers. Megan was undoubtedly the hottest girl on planet Earth-any guy would kill to have her as a girlfriend-and Dallas was supposed to let her slip through his fingers for his much less pretty cheater of an ex-girlfriend?

But then again, Sylvia did stick to Dallas like Elmer's, while Megan and Dallas were barely together, considering they were each in a different state almost every day. The last time he saw her in person was about two weeks ago at a movie premiere in Manhattan. Although, they did talk each night on Oovoo or Skype, and that counted as seeing each other, right?

Dallas thought back to the night he had been complaining to Darry about how he barely ever saw Megan, and the advice-well, Dallas took it as a lecture-Darry had given him.

"_Dally, you can't rely on modern technology to keep your relationship with Megan alive. Just 'cause she's got you as a boyfriend doesn't mean she's not screwing with some other guy. Open your eyes, blondie, and be a man about it."_

Sylvia's dignified light brown eyebrows furrowed together, mouth sticking out in what Dallas assumed was another one of those pissed off chick expressions. "What about _Megan? _You're going to take _her_ over _me?"_

Pros and Cons of having Sylvia as a girlfriend rather than Megan . . .

Cons: Megan was stunning; not that Sylvia wasn't pretty or anything, but compare any average supermodel to Fox and they'd go down without a fight. Megan had that slicked back dark hair with almost transparent green eyes, and Sylvia was basically the complete opposite, sporting long blonde curls and brown almond shaped eyes.

Megan was also much more nice to Dallas than Sylvia, but he figured it was only because Sylvia had known him for longer and knew more about the dumb shit he did, giving Sylvia a whole line of teases and jokes. Not that Dallas cared anyway; Sylvia was the only girl he'd take shit from.

Back in Tulsa when he was allowed to be a dumbass and get arrested, Sylvia would cheat on him while he was in jail. Dallas's sentences ordinarily lasted around ninety days, so how hard could it be for Sylvia to commit to a jailed boyfriend for three months? Hmm . . .

Pros: Sylvia was constantly at Dally's side, and the attention was definitely rewarding. There was no better advertisement for the Troop than one of the boys getting the cover of _Star! _or _People._

She was good in the sack. Dallas sure as hell bet Megan was too, but he really would never be able to find out, what with the couple being on two different coasts nearly every day.

A third pro? Dallas tried to think harder, staring at his ex-girlfriend, waiting with that irritated sneer on her face. _Come on Dallas; there has to be something else good about her. _

She made delicious lasagna. There; take it or leave it: Sylvia beat Megan.

"No," he finally decided, "I pick you."

The blonde squealed and bounced up and down with joy, throwing her arms carelessly around her beloved's neck, kissing him for the first time in nearly seven months. "I love you, Dallas."

**X**

Propped on Boyfriend Number Two's lap, the brunette pulled away from BF2's lips, reaching for the ringing phone behind her on the glass side table. Her playful smack to his wandering hand matched the smirk on her full lips as she said, "Hello?" into the telephone.

"Megan? Hey, it's Dallas," said Boyfriend Number Three.

Megan rolled her eyes, continuing to unbutton BF2's white shirt. "Oh, hey babe. What's going on?" she questioned, trying to pretend that she actually cared while trying to make the conversation sound like it was a girl-to-girl talk.

"Listen Megan, uh, I think we should take a break."

"Oh," she replied, smiling at BF2, pretending to be disappointed to Dallas.

Dallas sighed. Boy, she was taking this hard. "It's not you, it's me."

"Maybe it just wasn't meant to be . . ." she mused, still smirking to herself.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Well, I guess I'll see ya later or somethin'."

Megan nodded to herself. "Okay, well, just take it easy, honey. Everything will be fine."

Back in Los Angeles, Dallas furrowed his eyebrows together in confusion. "What?" he questioned.

Megan hung up before responding and resumed to kissing BF2, before he pulled away.

"Who was on the phone, baby?" he asked.

"Oh, Anna, a friend of mine. Her boyfriend just broke up with her, and she needed some, you know, comfort."

BF2 shook his head in utter amazement. "Baby, you are just the sweetest girl in the world."

She knew.

**X**

**Sorry if any of you are Megan Fox fans and feel offended by this chapter. I have nothing against her and I seriously doubt she'd be three-timing (?) a guy, but it's just the way I'm writing the chapter and using the stereotype that Megan is a whore, which I don't believe, despite the obvious mention toward it in this chapter. Please read, review, and enjoy! :D**


	17. Houston, We Have a Problem

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Outsiders._

**A/N: **Did lots of research on football for this chapter because I don't really follow football. I only watch the Jets games because of their cute quarterback, Mark Sanchez. He's like Heaven on Earth. Oh, and guess who just got her boat/jet ski license and feels like bragging? That's right, yours truly. :D

New thing: Centering the disclaimer, author notes, and chapter title. I think it makes the chapter's appearance look more organized.

Sorry for the long wait; it should be getting better. Reviews are inspiring! Please enjoy. xD

**Chapter Seventeen: Houston, We Have a Problem**

Two's company, three's a crowd. So what's ten?

With vacation winding down and tour starting up again, Sodapop was restless as he tried to manage a checklist of things that needed to be packed and done, and Dallas was certainly not much help.

"We need a checklist for each person-" Soda glanced at the dog running around- "Uh, we need a checklist for each . . . living thing going on the bus. So, that leaves it down to the Troop: me, you, Pony, Darry, Steve, Two-Bit, and Johnny; Sylvia, Tim, and Tex. Believe it or not, I think Tex is the one who needs the most stuff packed."

Dallas's eyes wandered the house as he tried to not listen to Sodapop. Darry scrubbed the inside of the stainless steel refrigerator with a soapy sponge, while Johnny swept the kitchen floor and Ponyboy cleaned the counters. Darry hired a maid to clean the house while the Troop was away on tour, but he was still a guardian and struggled with keeping his younger brothers in check. He wanted Soda and Pony to be able to care for themselves should the Troop's fame ever go downhill.

Sylvia pinched her latex glove covered index finger and thumb together, holding one of Tex's dog slobber drenched, plastic, squeaky toys as she packed the Lab's numerous belongings into a giant plastic bin from Target. Dally snickered at her girl-ish approach to the disgusting spit and chuckled when she called Tex a dirty mutt.

"Don't be hatin' on my home dog," Ponyboy warned in a sudden ghetto accent, shaking a finger at Sylvia from the kitchen.

Sylvia's brown eyes rolled as she muttered something about Ponyboy and his level of queerness.

**X**

On Darry's king-sized bed in the master bedroom was a month's worth of laundry for he, Soda, and Ponyboy. The brothers' Louis Vuitton suitcases lay open on the wood floor, waiting to be filled with Pony's designer skinny jeans, Darry's professional football jerseys, and Soda's prized Nike sneakers. Assigned for the job of "Packers" were two extremely reluctant boys: Two-Bit Mathews and Steven Randle.

"Aw, c'mon Sodapop! Why do I gotta pack up Ponyboy's chick clothes? How much you wanna bet he's got a belly shirt layin' in there somewhere, huh?"

Ponyboy's loud snicker could be heard from the kitchen. "I _so_ do _nawt_ wear belly shirts. You of all people should know that they are SO last season, Steve," said the young boy, choosing a thick New York accent instead of his recent ghetto mouth.

Steve muttered a quiet "Oh my God" and quickly resumed to his duties, suddenly eager to escape the living room. Obviously disappointed about his chore, Two-Bit followed Steve nonetheless, seeing nothing but practicability and realism of Ponyboy's statement.

"I seriously can't believe that Ponyboy just said that," Steve whispered in awe, shaking his head as he sloppily folded one of Darry's Cowboys jerseys. The jersey was that of Donovan Woods, a linebacker who had attended college with Darry's twenty-four-year-old cousin Tom at Oklahoma State. Although he had only been signed to the Cowboys in the '09 season, Darry had met Donovan a few times and decided to pick up one of his jerseys. The Curtis boys were Cowboys fans anyway. Dally didn't like them because they "stole his name."

Two-Bit picked up a pair of Soda's Levis and began to fold the jeans when he felt a crunch beneath his palm. Curiosity taking over the eighteen-year-old's brain, he held open a pocket, only to pull out a piece of paper that looked as if it had been left under a lawnmower with an ink leak. Two-Bit's rusty eyebrows furrowed together, wondering what the hell Soda had written on the paper as he struggled to unfold what seemed like thousands of layers.

"'X' marks the spot," he murmured when the sheet was completely unfolded. Steve was peering over Two-Bit's broad right shoulder by now, reading a neatly typed e-mail from someone whose name sounded just a tad French: Antoinette Pierre.

Gray eyes scanned the last line of the e-mail, growing wide as the realization sank in. Two-Bit's hands began shaking, resulting in the fall of the paper to the humongous bed. Floating gently in the wind that blew in from the open window, the paper landed softly on a pair of Darry's socks.

Steve cleared his throat before speaking, like something was holding him back. "Two-Bit . . ." he began, "what the hell was that?"

For once, Two-Bit's humor faded, replaced by an expression of sheer horror. "I-I think . . . I think Soda's tryin' to-tryin' to, uh, start a new band?"

"You mean he's leavin' the Tulsa Troop," Steve stated blandly.

Two-Bit shook his head, not to answer Steve's semi-question, but to clear his head. "I guess so."

Steve snatched the paper, and read it once again.

_Sodapop's Solo Career_

_Goal: The main goal of Sodapop's solo career is to win back the affection of a Miss Sandra Kellington. _

_How will this goal be accomplished? _

_Sodapop has secretly hired a team of highly trained songwriters. These dedicated men and women do the dirty work and essentially make a musician's life easier by supplying them with fifty percent of the materials needed to have a successful, long career. The other half of the materials comes with the talented voice of said musician. In order to pursue his career, Soda has developed each material needed for his first solo album, Sodapop Curtis. _

_How will Sodapop break off from the Tulsa Troop?_

_This question has not yet been answered, but Columbia Records and I myself, Antoinette Pierre, secretary of the assistant of Mr. Robert Stringer, chairman of Columbia Records, are determined to develop a method of a healthy band break-up._

_Sodapop will be notified of any changes in our agreement, signed on April 22, 2010. Thank you for your cooperation._

_Sincerely,_

_Antoinette Pierre, secretary of the assistant of Mr. Robert Stringer_

Steve gulped. "Two-Bit, Soda's 'band,'" Steve used air quotes now, "is just Soda."

**X**

**Sorry it was so short! Please read, review, and enjoy! :D**


	18. Can You Keep a Secret? Steve Can't

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Outsiders._

**A/N: **Yes, I know: It's been a while. I'll lie and pretend that I actually have a legitimate excuse as to why it has almost been three months since I last updated this story. I'll try and get back into the swing of things now that this chapter is done and I have a better idea as to where this story is heading. Please read, review, and spare me the complaints. I know I've been a horrible update-er.

**Chapter Eighteen: Can You Keep a Secret? Because Steve Can't.**

Two-Bit and Steve have this mutual agreement going on: They're gonna keep this newly discovered Soda's-leaving-the-band shit to themselves, meaning no one will find out that they know about it. There is only one issue with this proposal, however.

_They cannot get it off their fucking minds._

The plan has gone through various phases. When they first found out, Two-Bit and Steve had mixed emotions of anger and sadness. Soda had always seemed so _into _everything the Troop did. He always sang with all he had, always stuck around for meet-and-greets and signings and photo shoots and interviews, the whole nine yards. And the worst part about having Soda keep this whole 17-year-crisis to himself was that everyone still thought that the Troop was strong and incredible and that they were never going to break up.

Although now, a break-up was inevitable.

**X**

Steve and Soda fight one day. It's dumb and it's stupid and it really didn't need to go that far, but it did, and now everything is screwed up.

The Troop is on their tour bus, lounging around lazily en route to the next venue, when Steve asks Darry to change the channel.

"Absolutely not," Darry responds, turning up the volume instead of following Steve's request.

Steve snorts. "Dar, I'm not gonna sit here and watch your fuckin' reality shows."

"The news is not a reality show, idiot," Darry replies smoothly, and Soda chuckles from the booth.

"Shut up, Soda," Steve says. "Sorry I don't wanna watch chicks who wear too much make-up and plastic jewelry talk about some teenage kid who strangled his fuckin' science teacher."

"Aw, chill out, Steve. You'll survive. The teacher didn't even die," Darry answers as easily as if he just told Steve it was six o'clock.

Steve shakes his head. "Darry, what's the big deal? We're gonna be out of wherever we are by tonight, so why are you worrying about the local news? We're not fuckin' soccer moms who drive minivans with bumper stickers, douche bag."

"Hey, I happen to like soccer moms who drive minivans with bumper stickers!" Soda chants, slipping his headphones off so he can make his point. "They're the ones who buy their daughters Sour Patch Kids to give to us so we can eat them!" "Shut up, Soda!" Steve repeats, his tone so loud that he can hear Dallas complaining about being woken up from his bunk.

"No, Steve," Soda snaps, "Why don't you shut up for a fuckin' change, huh? You're always lookin' to get your way out of everything, and it really needs to stop. I can't have you in my band when all you do is complain. This is the Troop, Steve. It's about all seven of us, not just you!"

Steve stands up, obviously infuriated by Soda's rant. "_Your _band?" he shouts. "_Your _band? This is _our_ band, Sodapop, not just yours. And if you really care about the Troop anyway, then why are you fuckin' leavin' it, huh?"

Sodapop's breathing hard before that last line is spoken, but when the words hit his ears, his lungs stop. He feels like he's just been punched in the gut. "W-what?" he stutters, and by this time the entire band is in the main room of the bus, gathered around to watch the argument escalate.

Steve is oblivious to the fact that Soda is practically hyperventilating in the corner of the booth, as he continues his speech. "Yeah, that's right. Doesn't feel so good when you're in the bad kinda spotlight, huh? We know you're goin' solo, Soda. You don't have to lie anymore." Steve's lips turn up into a sadistic smile. "So, why don't you just let your little punkass right out the door and go win back Sandy with your precious record contract. Oh, but newsflash, asshole: You're not going to win back your knocked-up ex-girlfriend with lyrics you didn't even fucking write!"

And then he is on the floor, and his eye is throbbing. He can barely hold his head up, barely see who the sorry fucker that just punched him is. But he can make out the tall, muscular figure, and he thinks, _Darry._

**X**

"Because this silence isn't awkward or anything," Ponyboy mutters, tapping his fork against the table.

He, Dallas, Johnny, and Two-Bit are at a Chili's somewhere on the east coast while Darry, Soda, and Steve attempt to talk out the band's issues back on the tour bus. The boys at the restaurant are all a bit antsy, nervous as to how things are going with their band mates. They all silently hope that everything turns out well, but for tonight, nobody says anything about it, and they like it that way.

Dallas glares at the teenager in front of him. Dally was tired from staying up late the previous night. Sylvia had been rambling about getting married or some other ridiculous shit on the phone, and with the combination of that and the fear of the band breaking up, he had only gotten about three hours of bliss.

"Why do you keep saying 'because' before everything you say?" Johnny murmurs curiously.

Ponyboy shrugs. "New thing," he explains easily, sipping his Mountain Dew.

"You know what you need, kid?" Dallas asks randomly as he pops a fry into his mouth.

"What?"

"You need a girlfriend."

Two-Bit laughs for the first time since the day he and Steve found out about Soda's plan to leave the Troop, and the sound is music to everyone's ears, because if Two-Bit isn't laughing, major shit is upsetting him. "C'mon Dal, we all know the kid's gay."

"I ain't gay!" Ponyboy roars, repeating himself from the day the boys adopted Tex. He earns some surprised expressions from people sitting around their booth, but he is not in the least bit fazed. "And I'll prove it!"

Dallas snickers, now amused. "How?" he questions skeptically.

"I'll go on a date," Ponyboy remarks smoothly, as if getting a girl when you are one of the hottest and richest boys in the country is that easy.

Two-Bit's grin turns into a mischievous expression. "I got an idea. We'll sign the kid up for speed-dating!"

Ponyboy's gray-green eyes bulge wide as his lips turned south. "Excuse me?"

**X**

Soda flips his legs over the bunk, dangling them as he catches a glimpse of the photograph taped on the wall. It is the picture with the security guard from the Justine Bieber concert. The Troop (and the security guard) look so happy with their arms loosely wrapped around each other and bleach-white smiles of excitement plastered on their faces. Soda thinks he could miss that, but he locks the thought away as memories with Sandy come flooding back into his brain.

Nothing has been resolved, and he doesn't think that it ever will be.

**X**

**I was hoping to come back into the world of **_**Outsiders **_**fanfiction with something a bit more splendid and funny than this chapter, but this is what I came up with, so I hope you guys enjoyed , did anyone notice the change of tense? I'm writing in present now. I guess it's just easier for me, and I think it suits the story better too. Any feedback on that? **

**I love you all for sticking with the story even when I didn't, and I am so happy to announce that The Tulsa Troop has received over 200 reviews! Now you can all give yourselves little pats on the backs and buy ice-cream and feel happy, especially **_**spicygurl, **_**because even though she is a relatively new reader, she was the one who submitted the 200th**** review! Applause to you. I love you guys!**

_**P.S. **_**I am thinking about getting a beta to pick up little errors in my writing. Is anyone interested? And just to let you guys know, I'm not really familiar with how beta-ing works, so if someone can just explain it to me, yeah? Thanks.**

_**P.P.S. **_**Follow me on Tumblr so you can get to know me better! The link (Well, you know, no links on FF. We'll call it info for now.) is on my profile if you're interested!**


	19. All Downhill From Here

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Outsiders _or the title of this chapter, which is stolen from New Found Glory. Sorry boys.

**(Ridiculously long) A/N: **At this point you have probably realized that I am not a frequent updater, so I am not going to apologize again.

As you can see, I have changed my pen name. Again. Hope no confusion came out of this.

I want to thank my new (and very first) beta, _divine energy. _I am so excited to have someone help me with my writing because now I don't have to obsess over the mistakes later! So, virtual hugs for her.

I want to apologize in advance for the length of this chapter. It's a shorty.

Please read, review, and enjoy!

**Warnings for angst and sexuality remarks you may or may not find offensive.**

**Chapter Nineteen: All Downhill From Here**

Ponyboy's not so sure about this whole speed-dating thing. He's fourteen, not forty, and this just seems like something desperate single fathers with pot bellies and hairy knuckles do to win over women with bleached blond hair hanging from dark roots.

The teen sighs loudly, and Two-Bit tugs the earphones from Ponyboy's ears, earning a dignified death glare in return.

"Yes, Two-Bit?" Ponyboy asks blandly, but it sounds like more of a statement than a question.

Two-Bit's gray eyes narrow slightly as he stares Ponyboy down. "What's goin' on, kid?" He sounds concerned, but he speaks lightly, like he just told Ponyboy a ridiculous dirty joke.

Ponyboy snickers. Sometimes Two-Bit asks the dumbest questions. What's wrong? Oh, maybe that his older (and favorite) brother just abandoned their band to locate and miraculously win back his ex-girlfriend. Or that the eldest Curtis was acting more overbearing and annoying since Sodapop's departure. Or that Dallas was forcing Ponyboy to find a girlfriend through speed-dating.

"I'm tired," Ponyboy mumbles, and he knows his façade is so horribly transparent, but Two-Bit just places a somewhat-comforting hand on Pony's broad shoulder and squeezes.

"You're gonna be all right, kid."

**X**

Fingertips tapping restlessly against his denim-clad thigh, Sodapop stares at the computer screen. At Sandy's profile picture on Facebook.

She looks beautiful, natural. Her blond hair is tied up, a wide, white smile planted on her face. She's put on a couple of pounds, but the explanation is clear in the photo.

A blond-haired toddler is held on her hip, clutching his mother's shoulder.

**X**

Dallas plops down on the couch in the front lounge, debating between turning the TV on or slamming his head into the granite countertop in the kitchenette. He decides on the more practical option and lazily browses channels, eventually settling on some stupid weight-loss reality show.

He didn't realize he had fallen asleep until he's shaken awake by someone's hand on his shoulder, but he isn't tired enough to complain about it either. Sylvia is sitting beside him, chomping on a piece of bubblegum as she cards a hand through Dally's blond curls. The loud, wet sounds of her chewing seriously tackle the intended comfort, but again Dallas doesn't complain, just goes with the flow. Takes it one second at a time.

It seems like that is his only option nowadays.

**X**

Darry sticks his head in the sink, rinses his hair off with the cold water from the faucet. He's always preferred cool showers over warm ones, so he guesses that the same should go for washing his hair in a water-filled nine-inch space.

He stays in that position for a while, body bent over the tiny counter, brain close to freezing inside his skull as the water keeps coming down, but he pushes back the cold nozzle, concentrates on listening to the liquid drain instead of listening to his conscience ranting at him to do _something, _fucking anything about this stupid situation.

He pulls his head out of the sink, stares at himself in the mirror. The father-like version of Darry scribbles a mental note to Windex the surface as soon as possible, whereas the I'm-only-twenty-and-I-have-so-much-shit-to-deal-with side watches his eyes prickle with tears.

Darry certainly does not feel like Superman anymore.

**X**

Laying down in his bunk, just doing nothing and letting his mind wander, is Johnny's strong suit. He's really good at sorting everything out in that mysterious brain of his.

Today is no exception. The show is over, and all of the Troop members are showered, silenced, and pretending to sleep. Well, every member besides one, whose absence is more apparent than Ricky Martin's sexuality.

For several days the Troop has relied on the ever-so-helpful "Soda's sick" excuse. They lie easily, telling their fans (whose rosy cheeks are stained with mascara from crying) that Soda is laying in his bunk, praying to God that he will gain his health back so he can meet his fans. Nearly every girl insists on writing him a letter, saying a prayer for poor Sodapop, or sending him Tupperware containers full of her mother's homemade chicken soup.

Johnny wonders how long this will last.

**X**

Steve has never gone this long without speaking to Sodapop. Ever. It's been seven days. Seven _days_ without hearing his best friend's cheery voice.

He's frustrated. With everything and everyone. With his bandmates and himself and Soda and _himself._

Steve checks Soda's Twitter account every four minutes or so. He casually scrolls through the recent Tweets, which are mainly just him thanking famous friends for the get-well-soon wishes. Steve bets there are thousands of Tweets from fans too, but Soda isn't replying to them because there are "just so many." Steve huffs at the 1,096, 598 followers Sodapop's picked up. He vaguely blames it on jealously because he only has 879, 409, dammit.

Soda hasn't broken yet. Hasn't exploded and told everyone that his illness is all just a huge lie and that he really separated himself from the Troop because he's still in love with Sandy.

Fucking Sandy. She's the reason the band is falling apart. Steve knew he never liked her. Told Sodapop this too. Told him she was a no-good, lying sl-

And that's a lie. Because he didn't do that. As a matter of fact, he was the one who _introduced _them years back.

Steve falls back onto his bunk, throws a forearm over his eyes, and tries for sleep.

It doesn't come.

**X**

**Thoughts?**


End file.
